Etxarren (RENEWED!)
by Gretchiro
Summary: Mireille and Kirika are forced to train the next generation of Noir to become "free" of Noir...
1. Chapter 1: Vanity

**Author's Note: **thought it'd be fun to listen to this during this chapter. For the first part, Yuki Kajiura's "Everyday Life".  watch?v=cCBTgN9pO-s. For the second part, Yuki Kajiura's "Vanity".  watch?v=C-PhDVemv6s

Chapter 1

Vanity

Riki watched the clock.

The teacher had just finished directions for the worksheet and called random names at a time. When he paired Riki with the new international student, Riki suppressed a groan.

Her new partner looked at her with hazel eyes. "What?" she asked knowingly.

"Nothing!" said Riki.

Her partner smiled equally—what _was_ her name?—and leafed through her notebook. Meanwhile, Riki pulled out her cellphone, hiding it under her pile of folders on her desk. From his angle at the front of the classroom, Professor Tokiha wouldn't see her texting.

When Riki saw her partner's notes, she stole a glance: they were in French, with some attempts in Japanese.

"What's your name again?" asked Riki.

"Audriane Dupont," said her partner.

No wonder Riki couldn't remember her name—was Audriane a French name? Was it even an _actual_ name?

Riki nodded blankly, putting away her phone. What a relief to not have to switch from the comfort of her own language to English _or_ French. She jogged down answers on their worksheet, not wanting to waste time explaining a complicated equation to a foreign student.

"_Hey,"_ began Audriane, watching Riki. "We do together. I learn Japanese _and_ chemistry at the same time."

"I'm helping you," said Riki—in a thorny tone that earned her a glare.

"Slow down, we a team!"

Riki stopped immediately, raised her hands defensively. She restrained a frown, eyes bulging. Audriane stared her earnestly in the eyes, then traced the words on the worksheet with a finger, reading aloud for Riki to follow along.

….

Gun parallel to her face, the assassin crept along school grounds. She disappeared behind a tree, crouching low into the crotch of its thick roots. Her eyes swept the perimeter for any slight movement.

"Go," ordered the head Knight, with a wave of his hand.

His men in suits trotted through the wooded backyard of the school. They snuck behind trees, behind walls, trashcans and benches in the baseball field, under windows, on top of a long row of rooftops that split from the main building—architecture boasting geometric shapes that overlapped each other, like pieces fitting together in a jigsaw puzzle. Other Knights casually walked into bathrooms to hide in the stalls, awaiting orders.

The assassin glided behind a row of outside lockers. She squatted behind the prickly flat-headed bushes lining the walls of the school.

The head Knight touched his earpiece: "Bring in the hellfire."

The assassin took out a pocket mirror and lifted it to the window above her.

It reflected who was inside the front office.

One of their snipers on top of the school said, "Target found."

…..

For the next ten minutes, Audriane struggled with Japanese here and there. On some words, Riki was patient, explaining, or correcting in Japanese. Near the end, however, she wanted to speed things up, and from then on, often wrote the answers down without explaining in Japanese how she got them. She was eager to text again.

"Please help," said Audriane as calmly as she could, pointing the eraser of her pencil at a specific problem.

Riki was already throwing her sweater over her pile of notebooks. She faked to write with one hand, her other hand under her sweater as she texted. Professor Tokiha merely circled the room, checking on pairs. He smiled at Riki and Audriane with only a flitting glance at their paperwork, and moved on.

Such a nice man; Riki frowned; a man that should have been more stringent, for it butchered his credibility. It made her frustrated toward his efforts as a teacher, but sorry for him as well . . .

And yet she couldn't resist the gossip she was texting Asuke—about Sakuya and Ojiru breaking up. About if this was her chance to pounce, see if her slightly blossoming feelings for Ojiru would confirm that they weren't just "friends". That she just wasn't "crushing" or "infatuated" by him.

"Riki!" snapped Audriane, stabbing her paper with a finger. "Help!"

"Hold on," said Riki, texting furiously. From the principal's office, Ojiru just texted her about a "hot woman" here for the interview as the new receptionist. Stupid Ojiru. This was the same guy who leered at other women after a just-breakup. Riki should be mortified, but she liked him. That pulse of jealousy she felt whenever he was with Sakuya . . .

Next to Riki, Audriane waited, but not for long. She finally snatched Riki's phone, threatening a glance at the teacher whose back was turned. Riki gasped, glaring at her.

Ok, that was _too_ much.

"Give it back, Dupont!" hissed Riki, reaching for it.

Audriane stood up so abruptly to dodge, that her chair toppled backwards. Professor Tokiha turned around.

…..

All Riki wanted to do was throw her phone right at her lab partner's head—when she'd get it back from Mr. Tokiha.

As she trudged to detention, she smacked the wall with her hand. Then anger took over reason and she _slapped_ the wall so hard it stung, and shook her hands and hissed.

Sure, she should have helped more, but at least she _had_ helped at all. It was just a few texts! Audriane's impatience was reasonable—but to rat Riki out like that? It was like breaking the law: who rats their fellow classmates _texting_? Every teenager knew that.

Riki passed classrooms; they echoed with muffled laughter and lectures. She approached a hallway intersection of white brick walls, with triangular tiles shining caution from just being mopped by the janitor.

The detention room was in the back of the principal's office, just down the hallway. Riki stopped and leaned against the wall to kill time, felt the detention slip in her pockets. But something was missing. She desperately searched her red hoodie.

"Nooo, my iPod—where is it?" she whispered.

She whined to herself, slowly walking the other way toward the cafeteria. Maybe she dropped her iPod back there on her way to detention. She also hoped one of her friends would have Lunch Period B, just to kill time.

_Enter the scenery of love, lovers are in pain, they blame and pick on each other._

When she stepped into the cafeteria, she looked across to the clock high up on the wall above the lunch line. It's been five minutes; Mr. Tokiha would contact the office to make sure she was actually there . . .

Masami wasn't in Lunch Period B. Riki didn't see any other of her closest friends, either. Now she really wished she had her iPod; she could have sat in the food court outside and killed time with her music. Besides, she couldn't get that one song out of her head.

The melody rippled through her mind, almost tangible strings and piano, leaving heavy prints in her brain.

_You played melodies of love . . . forgotten phrases, tender and sweet . . ._

The assassin snuck into the school and hid in a locker.

_Come a little bit closer, don't stay in the shadows, my boy._

"Show 'em hell, boys," said the head Knight. He signaled.

_The melody's fading . . . Now or never, love will go—_

Footsteps.

_I'll be there, by your side; share your fears in silent redemption. _

Riki heard someone walking by, hoping it wasn't Mr. Tokiha. She leaned casually against the wall to keep from looking jittery or suspicious.

Someone stepped around the corner that was back-to-back to her wall. Black boots slapped the tile floor, buckles strapped the ankles, clinking beautifully. Riki's eyes flickered up bare legs to a black skirt. A long greenish-brown jacket swung over a red turtleneck sweater. The newcomer had almost walked by Riki without noticing her but stopped and turned her head.

"Oh. Hey, Riki."

_Touch my lips, hold me tight . . ._

"Sakuya," said Riki, smiling neutrally.

_Live in vanity, for a while . . ._

Riki had a bit of ego. She sometimes saw herself quite popular and pretty, so when she first met Sakuya she she actually didn't like her. Simply put, the sophomore was competition. But after meeting her when she dated Ojiru, Riki didn't find the sophomore too horrible. She had doubted Sakuya paid her much attention, too. In a way, in her mind, that put them on common ground.

"Oh, right! Perfect timing running into you," said Sakuya. "I think this is yours."

The brunette fished something from her pocket, the wavy curls from her bushy mane bouncing just above her shoulders. She handed over an iPod. Its sushi ear buds coiled around colorful bubbles and specks.

"Oh thank god!" said Riki. "Where'd you find it?"

She took it, as Sakuya pointed over her shoulders. "Right here actually, on my way to lunch, on the floor. Akane was this close to declaring 'finders, keepers'."

Sakuya paused, smiling, as if expecting appraisal. That freckled, flawless, creamy skin. Those unnaturally bright-blue eyes. How lucky she was to be a "mix": her Japanese father running for mayor who had flown her over here to Tokyo from her American mother in Washington. A transfer student who's been here a year longer than Audriane.

"By the way," added Sakuya, "it was in the middle of playing a song. I didn't know you liked Anime." Grin.

"You _listened_?" said Riki, eyes bulging.

Sakuya shrugged, smiling meekly. "I was curious."

Riki's face felt hot. Even though Anime was part of Japan's culture, her friends didn't care for it, so she tried not to. _This_ side of her personality was a secret. To the grave.

"Music is music, right?" said Sakuya, shrugging. "Doesn't matter if it's sad, happy, classic, video game, or Anime—oh, um, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude—you're ok with that, right . . .?"

Riki was _not_. And yet, Sakuya's eyes burned right into her; Riki felt belittled in front of them. When they first met, Riki thought nothing of the girl. They barely talked at mixers or in the presence of Ojiru. But when they did, the atmosphere was casual. Ever since, those eyes always left an impression on Riki: poisonous. No. Addicting. Like blue fire, tingling her face—so hot, like the sun, she'd go blind and melt if she looked too long, too deep.

Just looking at godliness was too much; Riki was beginning to understand why Ojiru dated her. So why did he break up with her?

"I know what you're thinking," said Sakuya, feigning a smile. "How horrible of me for breaking up with one of your friends. And why."

Riki made a face, not knowing what to say. "Uh, I heard it was pretty mutual, though, so . . .? I mean, what about you? You ok?"

Sakuya shrugged, smiling thinly. "I mean, I _did_ care about him—I hope he's ok. Funny, you should be asking him that . . ."

Riki opened her mouth but said nothing.

"But yeah," said Sakuya, "I'm fine. Thank you."

More awkward silence.

"So . . . why?" asked Riki. "Why'd you break up?" Although she was glad they did, she still didn't like the idea of someone hurting Ojiru—even though the asshole was checking out the school's new receptionist. People had their ways of coping or moving on.

Sakuya laughed dryly, with a huge shrug. "Look, if you wanna know everything, wanna hang at the mall sometime?" She lightly tapped Riki's arm. "I could use a friend after a breakup. And I mean a _new_ friend, a fresh outsider from the whole relationship drama that so-called 'friends' vulture over. Someone to tell me that it's ok to be single."

Riki chuckled, hands on her hips as she looked around uncertainly. "Sure."

"No pressure. Whenever you have the time." With that, Sakuya walked back into the cafeteria where her friends waved her down back to their table. Riki glanced after her, cut short when Sakuya looked back over her shoulders. Everyone at the table followed her glance. Riki recognized Akko and Kenji. Barely knew Hiroshi and Chikane. Didn't know who those other two were . . .

In that glimmer of a second, their eyes met. Sakuya smiled and waved awkwardly. In the same attempt, Riki shot her hand up and down. When she turned around and hurried back toward the principal's office, she suddenly liked the idea of something new to look forward to at school that wasn't a boy: a new friend.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I drew some of our characters. Find me on deviantart as "duskricorn"!

7


	2. Chapter 2: Crimson

**Author's Note:** listen to the live concert version of Noir's "Canta Per Me" for this next scene.  watch?v=wRWLU8n8sxA

Chapter 2

Crimson

The sound of shattering glass, chiming like bells, can be a beautiful thing. But not when there are screams, too.

Footsteps drummed in the distance like echoing rainfall. Every head in Tokiha's class perked up, eyes bulging. They waited. Was that really what they thought it was?

Another gunshot.

Everyone shot up from their seats, or remained frozen bent over their tables from their gossip. They listened for it again.

Men shouting, but also screaming. From one direction, then another.

Then, different kinds of screaming—beyond screaming, so inhuman and terrifying, like a slaughter.

There was a muffled sound as the intercom turned on. They recognized their principal's voice; what started steady became shaky:

"Everyone, this is a _real_ Lock-Down! Stay in the corners and lock—!"

There was a gunshot, then a thump, and then the lingering sound of their principal trying to breathe.

The class panicked. Mr. Tokiha hushed them, reminding them of their Lock-Down rehearsals. He locked the door, then herded everyone to huddle in a corner far from the door and shaded windows.

Footsteps—_more_, actually.

Men talking in calm voices—in voices no one liked.

It was like the room itself drew in its breath and held it in a single, loud gasp.

Bullets went loose; a boy cried outside in the hallway. A thump against metal, what must have been lockers.

Suddenly, the two rectangular slits of windows framing the door, cracked. Bangs and poundings, so beastly that they forgot it was mere humans on the other side, men aiming to kill. The whole class erupted in cries. Students covered their heads with shaking hands.

Mr. Tokiha happened to look up across the room in horror.

"Audriane?" he whispered.

The transfer student had remained paralyzed in the corner opposite from theirs. She just stood there, back pressed deep into her corner as if hoping the walls would make a bullet-proof cocoon around her. She stared back at him; he seemed to lack expression, yet he sheened with sweat, eyes quivering. A human connection between Audriane and Tokiha that would haunt her for as long as she drew breath. She thought, _Coward_, yet couldn't blame him.

Audriane never dropped his gaze, even as the windows seemed to cave in, shattering. As two men in black suits smashed the hanging fragments of glass with their guns. As their grinning, bone-white masks barely fitted through sideways. As they turned their guns on Audriane's classmates the moment they heard the startled children across from her.

Despite her willpower, Audriane screamed. Her own shriek surprised even her, sent an icicle of fear through her as she miraculously bolted between the men that barged in and the men that followed in that split second they shot her classmates.

Pulsing with adrenaline, Audriane ran. She couldn't tell if her sucking, heaves of breath was from the horror she'd just witnessed, or from the scream of exhaustion from her body—

A bullet slashed the side of her arm. She flinched—barely felt it—with her adrenaline distracted from the burning pain. She shouted to herself: _run, run, run, run!_ Such simple, repetitive words were the only sane comprehension that brought her reassurance.

Her heart already felt as though it'd been pried from her chest, now desperately beating. Her throat was an icy dryness, too robbed of air to bother screaming, knowing it brought with it chances of being discovered . . . by who, she didn't want to know.

Audriane didn't know why, but she stopped. She realized she was by the cafeteria.

It wasn't even when she saw the bodies, but the _second_ just before—when she had the slightest hint of what she was _about_ to see—that made her barf. Audriane keeled over and stumbled against the doorframe. She recognized some of her classmates. She mentally fought the urge to vomit, feeling as though someone was trying to kick a boulder out of her stomach. She could barely breathe. The overall realization that this was all happening became so overwhelming that her world tilted, her vision fuzzed.

She felt ashamed for not looking. She didn't want to see the blood. The inhuman, terror-stricken faces. The bodies. The eyes . . . eyes of the dead, of her _classmates_. Just like in the movies: open and white and still. Like glowing white holes burning deep in the back of her mind, _blaming_ her . . .

"OVER THERE!"

Audriane didn't bother looking—she couldn't afford to. She broke into a staggered run, holding her stomach, as everything became a blur. She tried to shove oxygen in her lungs, but knew she couldn't last much longer. She had never been athletic. She wondered if it was easier to turn and fight, get it over with.

She didn't know where she was going. She just ran wherever it looked like no one was around. She just wanted to be alone, and yet she didn't.

She heard a gunshot, and it sounded very close—but she didn't look. She kept running. She heard men's voices, shouting to each other. Met by gunfire. At each other. Were they confused from all the panic, on who was who?

When Audriane snuck by a row of lockers, one of them opened. Someone stepped out. All she saw was a gun pointed at her, and she screamed, covering her head. At the same time, behind her, a masked man grunted as the bullet took him. Audriane didn't stop moving, however—she kept running.

Before she knew it, her survival instincts brought her to the principal's office. She panicked. _What am I doing here?_ _This was where the gunshots were first heard! _

The sudden thought of the principal, shot in his own office, threatened an inevitable barf.

Audriane remembered her situation and tried to concentrate. _The killers aren't likely to return to the first spot, right?_ She looked around. No one . . . save for Mrs. Czarnecki slumped over her chair; the teacher who taught only senior classes, draped lifelessly over the lounge coffee table; and a blonde woman lying across her stomach, bleeding.

_The detention room!_ she thought. Behind the front desk next to the principal's door.

Audriane ran there—only to find out someone else was in the detention room.

When she saw that person slam into her, she wanted to scream, but couldn't for some reason. She felt the force of their colliding bodies. Then, her attacker stepped back to see the damage.

Her lab partner.

"Riki?" said Audriane.

Without knowing why, Audriane looked down. Was that a wooden _pencil_ stuck in her side? Sticking in and out of her side, at a slant. A traditional Number 02 pencil. So small and seemingly insignificant, it almost seemed benign and plain _ridiculous_.

She realized she couldn't feel anything. But the more Riki repeated, "Shit, shit, shit!" the more Audriane felt cold. Then, pain sunk in, like sharp teeth ripping her guts out.

Audriane swayed. Probably to the sight, not the pain, she couldn't tell.

The turn of events was unfathomable. Even though there was no blood—clogged with a pencil—Riki looked away from what could have been gore. She was queasy with dread, watching the color drain from Audriane's face. She was distraught and horror, like beasts inside her ready to burst free of their prison.

Shouts.

A bullet missed Riki, with a beautiful _zip_! It left a hot moment in the air right by her ear. She wheeled around and retreated to the farthest corner of the room behind the tables collected in a square-shaped formation.

Footsteps poured in. They stopped by Audriane. Two of them. There was the sound of a click. All Riki could see was the lower half of Audriane's body, slumped against the plastic chair where the detention teacher normally sat to watch the students. Audriane's breathing quickened, followed by a whimper. Riki found herself breathing heavily with her, as if her heart was lodged in her throat. The guilt, the fear . . .

"Check the room."

Fear was like thick water, spider-crawling down her neck, as Riki watched those feet walk over hurriedly. She didn't have time to think as her survival instincts took over. She shot up onto her feet and heaved the table over her head. She heard a yowl, and guessed from the cursing that the table landed sideways onto his foot.

There were little explosions as bullets pierced her fortress. The gunfire was deafening, as Riki hit the floor, covering her head, screaming, praying to sink into the floor and disappear.

More bullets riddled her table, followed by silence.

Then footsteps.

She didn't know whether to open her eyes or not. She didn't want to see what was in store for her, but she couldn't just _lie_ there. Riki opened her eyes reluctantly. She saw a roll of tape on the floor just a foot away from her, probably from when she tossed the table. It was bigger than her hand, in a hard and shiny case. Without thinking, Riki grabbed it and jumped over the table and roared. She aimed to bash his head as hard as she could.

But Riki only saw eyes and a startled face. Then the floor, face-first—her opponent had dodged her. She now lay there across her stomach, body bruising, adrenaline making it hard to control her shaking.

All of that, in seconds. Followed by a click, then a gunshot.

Riki screamed, screwing her eyes shut.

But she felt nothing. No pain, no warm blood, just cold sweat. Yet her ears were pounding from the deafening gunshot and her heartbeat. She held her breath, awaiting another attempt against her life.

"Did you try to kill me with _tape_?"

The voice belonged to a woman. After everything she'd been through, Riki didn't want to look. She just wanted to close her eyes and fall asleep—but curiosity turned her head. She saw a bullet hole in the floor next to her. She looked up over her shoulders, and sat up, slowly, arms shaking under the weight of her body.

A blonde woman with her hair in a bun stood over her, panting, mostly with anger. "Dammit!" she hissed through her teeth, holding her side.

Riki looked past her. Two men were dead. One lay in a crumpled heap, his fingers twitching; the other guy . . . his upper body was propped against the wall, head hanging back, and his legs twisted in nonsensical directions on the floor in a perpendicular manner.

Riki looked back at her savior. Even with the blonde's red shirt, Riki saw that dark splotch of blood growing.

The longer the woman stood there, knees buckled, holding her side, gun in her hand, the more Riki recognized her.

_She was lying on the floor in the principal's office! That makes no sense! Was she faking it?_

"Were you . . . the new receptionist?" whispered Riki.

"What do you _think_?" The woman raised her gun as if to make a point, making Riki flinch.

There were shouts in the hallway. It crushed all false sense of salvation.

Riki panicked, looking back at the blonde, wary, yet hopeful.

The woman saw Audriane, who was barely breathing by the doorway. "We need to get her out of here—both of you," she said hastily. "Grab her! Out the window!"

The stranger picked up a spare gun from the men she'd killed, and tossed it to Riki. She almost didn't catch it, partly because she never expected in her life to ever _see_ a gun. It was heavier than she expected; so foreign, in her world of boring classes . . .

In those seconds of catching the gun, Riki felt a tear in her reality.

"HEY!" roared her savior, standing strategically by the door. "When I said it, I meant _now_!" The blonde leaned out and fired out toward the hallway.

The sound of gunfire jolted Riki. She clumsily held the gun in one hand, and rushed over and supported Audriane under the armpits. The large gun in her small hand in comparison wasn't helping, so she tucked it into the front of her jeans even though the idea made her feel unsafe.

She couldn't believe how crushingly _heavy_ the average teenager was. But when the gunfire seemed louder—_closer_—Riki's mind seemed to deny all comprehension of gravity, and heaved. Her efforts to drag Audriane to the windows were pitiful, but she got them to the window. There, Riki tugged at the window, but it was jammed, one of the cheap flaws of this school. She cursed, curling her fingertips to adjust to the latch's small size. She pried again, but it resisted.

The glass suddenly broke next to her, spraying the smallest bits into her face. Riki turned her face away on reflex. She then positioned herself behind Audriane. Just when she thought _dragging_ the girl was enough of a workout, she was proven wrong as she tried to lift the girl up to the window. She squatted and wrapped Audriane's arm around her shoulders, and pushed up with her feet. Her body trembled after all it's been through. Thankfully, the sound of gunshots made her burst with adrenaline as she continued the effort.

The window cracked again at the sound of another gunshot. Without thinking, Riki aimed her gun at the the same cracks. She fired five times, trying to ignore the heavy buck of the gun.

"GO!" roared the woman, timing her shots from her cover.

Despite how tired her body was, Riki lifted Audriane out, almost with a roar. She managed to sling her classmate halfway over the windowsill. Audriane gasped as her body grazed the remaining teeth of glass protruding from the corners of the window.

Riki clambered out, gritting her teeth to ignore her cuts. She planted her feet on the grass, grateful they'd been on the first floor of the school. She turned and started pulling Audriane out of the window—but Audriane gasped.

"You're just in shock, you're not gonna die—!" began Riki.

She looked at Audriane's side; the pencil was still there.

With the sound of gunfire getting closer, Riki couldn't waste time on sympathy. She was forced to pull the rest of Audriane out the window—hard. Audriane crashed on her side, crushing her own arm and pencil wound. Panicking, Riki wrapped Audriane's arm around her shoulder, and—

"Nice try," shouted someone.

Riki looked up, frozen.

There were _more_ of them? At least five! How many could there possibly be? What was going on that demanded _this_ amount of mysterious men to raid an innocent high school?

And never did she perceive masks as horrendous as she did now. Bony-white and boring. Black eyeholes, stretched and almond-shaped. Crescent smiles, exaggerated.

Riki felt an incomprehensible rage, giving her beating heart new purpose.

_Cowards_.

She settled Audriane down next to her and took out her gun, her emotions a twist of agony and vengeance. Her enemies retracted just an inch, as if shocked by her boldness. Taking heart to the slight falter, Riki screamed and charged.

The Knights aimed their guns.

Something snapped in Riki: what was she _thinking_—?

A voice rang out. "It's called a gun—you shoot things till they DIE!"

There was an explosion as two Knights were thrown back like rags. Three more fell onto their backs. Another gunshot went off, crumbling one more enemy to his knees. He sat there, head lolling backwards in a grotesque, unforgettable way. The postures, not the blood, was too mesmerizing, too horrifying, that Riki couldn't move.

Riki finally gasped, as if remembering to breathe. Arm straight, she aimed her gun at the last Knight. He raised his hands slowly yet reluctantly. He wasn't responding to _her_, though.

Riki slowly and cautiously turned her head in case the Knight made any moves. She nearly jumped when she sensed someone behind her—it was the blonde, standing between Riki and the window, her own gun raised at the Knight.

The stranger's lips curled into an ungrateful scowl as she eyed the gun in Riki's hands. "Really, _you_ . . .?" Her tone almost sounded accusing, her glower drifting up to Riki's eyes.

_What did that mean—? _thought Riki.

The woman shot the last Knight. He went limp, then collapsed with the nauseating sound of a crunch. His mask flew off, wobbling next to his bleeding face.

Resisting gagging reflexes, Riki looked away, only to notice that four more men running toward them.

"No . . ." gasped Riki, stepping backwards. _Why?_

Behind her, the blonde sighed dramatically. "Dammit—KIRIKA!"

It wasn't a curse, but a summon. The Knights barely made it to them before they were shot down. Riki looked around, expecting more to cave in on them. But only one person appeared, and she was not in a mask or black suit. She was a girl probably a few years older than the teenagers. In fact, she was a Japanese woman in her early twenties: dark, short mop of ragged hair with full bangs that needed trimming. A plain, roundish face that was slightly tanner than Riki's, with lips like a porcelain doll.

It wasn't the gun in her hands that frightened Riki—it was those calm, rust-colored eyes. It didn't distract Riki from one question: did this Japanese acquire her gun under the same circumstances?

"I haven't . . . seen you around here," said Riki, catching her breath.

"No," said the young girl. "I _was_ a student at one point, though."

Such a young voice. It was almost fragile; sweet like honey, but thick with wisdom. Sophisticated. The strange combo was almost haunting.

Nothing made sense. Riki just wanted to scream. She looked back and forth between the two women with guns, the bodies around them. As if putting everything together didn't work out, the last of her logic slimmed down to one move:

Riki leveled her gun at the Japanese girl. "Who the hell are you, and what's going on?" she yelled, throwing a hostile glance at the blonde.

The blonde was already supporting Audriane. "Look," she began, looking to the baseball field. "Now's not the time for proper introductions—."

Riki nodded her own gun curtly, as if to command. "Yes it is. Tell me what the hell is going on—?"

"Would you like tea with that?" growled the blonde. "Why don't we invite the enemy to our little tea party—?"

"Please," interrupted Kirika. "We need to get you outta here—."

There was a ring of blasts around their feet. More Knights came from the baseball field or tennis court, but they were far enough for the four to converse a quick get-away.

"You have guns, now use them!" shouted the blonde, firing.

Her bullets missed the closest Knight, who charged. Left with no choice, the blonde dropped Audriane and threw herself out of his way. Riki automatically rushed over to prop Audriane up, whose pain brought her back to the situation and motivated her to sit up. Meanwhile, the same Knight pounced for the blonde, slashing at her with a dagger. She slipped under his swing fluidly, and hammered her _high heel_ into the side of his neck. He seemed to hang there, before crashing over like a slow, falling tree. She fired down his comrade that followed.

Riki gawked. She'd forgotten the woman had been wearing heels this whole time.

"This is the last time I wear 'em, too," said the blonde, brushing off Riki's awe.

Men charged at Kirika, leaving an opening for Riki, who stepped in front of Audriane and fired blindly. Her bullets stung a man in the knees. Another shot pinned a man straight in his chest. Before Riki could reload—god, she didn't know _how_—another Knight advanced.

But Kirika charged at him from the side, almost as if to literally slam into him. Instead, she leaped over him in a sideways _aerial_ cartwheel, and fired. His run toward Riki became mangled and creepy, like a zombie desperately trying to reach its next meal with a missing leg. He fell face-first, his body like rubber; his legs flew up in the air behind him, then slapped the ground lifelessly.

Riki feared the body at her feet, as if it would spring back to life and drag her to hell with it.

The battlecries were replaced by something worse: students wailing inside. Riki had almost forgotten about the massacre. The screams, they became frantic voices scattering in different directions. Some quieted into whimpers, some gurgles, loud enough to hear from where the four women stood. Windows were lighting up from the gun blasts. More screams, when Riki didn't think there'd be more.

Which led to another thought.

"My friends . . ." she whispered, leaning toward the window she just came from.

Someone grabbed her wrist. Riki turned, forced to stare into the blonde's eyes.

"You just survived a school massacre, Riki," said the blonde. _"You."_

How they knew her name sliced her thoughts only for a second—because something else was more important. This time, for some reason, Riki dared not say it aloud, as if questioning herself.

_Sakuya._

Riki tugged.

"Don't be a hero, kid—!" said the blonde.

"What are you—we . . . we could be saving more in there!" shrieked Riki.

She felt cool metal against her temple.

"What are you doing?" screamed Riki, wriggling out of the woman's grip despite the gun to her head.

This woman wouldn't shoot her—she had just saved her! That's what she was here for, right?

"You'll just trap yourself in there," said the blonde, her voice steady but alarming.

"Let _go_, we could have saved a bunch of them by now—!"

A boom went off in Riki's ear, silencing her into darkness.


	3. Chapter 3: The Name of an Ancient Fate

**Author's Note: **For this chapter, listen to Yuki Kajiura's "Day, Too Far".  watch?v=kg5QbqoHZCU

Chapter 3

The Name of an Ancient Fate

"Noir?" whispered Audriane.

"That's right," said the blonde. "People will be addressing you that from now on."

_So she is French,_ thought Audriane, comforted by her own native language.

The blonde leaned against the sliding doors, looking out the veranda. Something seemed off about her bangs. Unnatural. It was almost as if half of them had been chopped off, with the other half tapered into long, sharp strands. _So_ needed trimming.

"To anyone who asks you," said the blonde "you also are no longer 'Audriane Dupont'. Just call yourself . . . I dunno, 'Adele'. Simply, Adele. Not that it matters _too_ much since you won't be around people. _Still_. Don't trust anyone, not even your own damn grandma. Understand?"

Audriane barely nodded.

"Do I make myself _clear_, 'Adele'?"

Audriane nodded. "And _you_?"

"I suppose there's no sense of hiding who I am." Sigh. "Mireille Bouquet."

"That's a pretty last name—." Audriane stopped herself. "Why trust _you_, stranger?"

"Isn't that the lesson of the day." Mireille almost said it light-heartily, as if proud of Audriane's caution.

Mireille said nothing else, silenced to the clink of glass and clattering pots as she disappeared behind the kitchen wall.

Audriane sat there at the round mahogany table by the hotel porch. It was all she could do for the past day. After the massacre, they've hidden here. Mireille and Kirika had been out "talking to sources", locking both students inside—Riki, unconscious, but recovering, Audriane huddled in a corner in a daze, listening to the TV reporting the body counts, the police search for any traces of the criminals, the aftermath mourning.

And Audriane' emotions hadn't changed. They were scattered: appreciation for these two, disbelief at what's transgressed, fear of what was to come next. Seriously, what now? Where did she go from here? What would happen to Riki? Most importantly, why _them_ and this "Noir"?

She snuck a glance to the cracked door that led to Riki's bedroom.

Kirika came over with a tray of teacups and mini plates, setting them on the coffee table in front of the sofa. She poured tea from a teapot with handles that were curved and shaped like silly ears, a lotus sitting on top of the puny lid.

"Riki ok?" asked Audriane.

Kirika settled a palm-sized cup in front of Audriane. It was rimmed with chipped golf leaf paint; the intricate floral pattern curled with prickly leaves stretched across the grooves running down its sides.

"In case anyone asks," said Kirika, "Riki's name will now be 'Miku'."

Audriane stared at the teacup, then at Kirika. She was a petite woman with short hair that was growing past her neck, but not quite touching her shoulders. She swept her bangs to the side behind her ear, but they continued to overwhelm her eyebrows.

Mireille returned from the kitchen and sat down on the sofa. Kirika served her tea, then sat next to her. Audriane watched, separated from them at her own table. For some reason, she felt a rift between her and them.

Finally, Mireille acknowledged her. "The pencil. Wasn't it _her_ fault?"

Audriane's hand automatically touched the hole in her side, covered with tethered bandage around her waist. It felt stiff but reassuring.

"An accident," said Audriane.

"An inconvenient hindrance," said Mireille, her lukewarm voice echoing into her cup.

Her comment embarrassed Audriane. She knew it shouldn't . . . but it was Mireille's tone. She was hard to read; why did she have to be so . . . blunt, almost _mean_, about everything—especially when she had insisted that the trauma Audriane's body was experiencing only fooled her mind into exaggerating the physical pain she felt?

Mireille tapped her cup with a long, slender spoon, and stirred. Kirika pulled out her tea-bag and sagged it on a mini plate that leaked, yet with a delectable fragrance. They quietly chewed their biscuits, eyes closed. It created an ambience in the room so blissful, it almost erased all feelings of dread—yet it felt like a facade.

Feeling safe and feeling _comfortable_ around them were beginning to feel like two different things. Still, Audriane was driven to understand who her saviors were.

Audriane whispered, "Why? Why this all happen? What _is_ Noir? Why us?"

Troubled, Kirika looked sideways at her partner. Mireille's eyes had long been closed, as if expecting the annoying questions.

"Don't look at _me_," said Mireille.

"Answers. Please?" said Audriane.

"Drink your tea," said Mireille; she nodded curtly. "Kirika went through a lot to make that for you."

Any remote need to understand and sympathize with them—_gone_.

Audriane exploded: "_WE_ GO THROUGH A LOT! Why? Tell me! We have _time_—so talk!"

"_Now _isn'tthe time. You wouldn't be able to handle it, not now."

_All that running around leaving us inside, and you have nothing to explain to us?_ thought Audriane.

She felt her face scrunch into a scowl. She slowly sipped her tea, but it was tasteless, now that Mireille's tongue added poison.

Audriane winced, for some reason, at the thought of Riki texting or the accidental wound she gave her. She grunted, sliding her hand over her wound. The prickly splinters were still there, left by the pencil.

Mireille looked like she was going to comment, but Audriane faked a smile. She tried to remove negative thoughts toward her classmate. Crumble them into a paper ball and toss it away. After all, a bullet grazed Riki in the neck—_she_ went through the worst, trying to protect herself _and_ Audriane—

Which was Riki's fault! She _was_ being stupid, trying to go back inside after all that trouble to get them out the window, with that massacre going on inside! What Kirika did to stop Riki was reasonable—ingenious—on her end. Although, it _did_ send a chill up Audriane's spine, that Kirika's accuracy didn't kill Riki but immobilized her. The power to _choose_ to cripple, if not kill, with a bullet . . .

Audriane watched Kirika again. The girl was a sitting statue, but a walking enigma. She seemed different from Mireille.

"You've got a secret admirer," joked Mireille, cracking the biscuit between her teeth. Her legs were crossed, arms rested behind her against the wall. So dignified, nearly haughty, and yet Audriane was intrigued. She hated feeling this way after everything's that happened.

"Where you learn? Shoot like that?" asked Audriane.

Kirika lowered her gaze. "Where to begin?"

Before she could press on, they made out the sound of movement from the bedroom, followed by a whimper. Audriane staggered that way, holding her wound.

"She's an awfully nice girl," observed Mireille.

Kirika nodded.

"She's not gonna last long," said Mireille.

Kirika narrowed her eyes at Mireille, who shrugged.

In the bedroom, Audriane sat on a chair and leaned forward. "Riki?" she whispered.

Her heart seemed to stutter in her chest when her classmate finally opened her eyes. Riki looked around, but it didn't look like she registered the images around her.

Kirika joined them, with a face devoid of expression—but when she carefully undid the blotched bandages around Riki's neck, her lips trembled, and her eyes shook with emotion. Audriane watched the process. Something told her to pay attention closely, that she'd have to learn things like this for the future.

Audriane expected Kirka to voice an update on Riki's condition, but Kirika said nothing. She watched Riki stir in her sleep, but the girl did not wake.

Kirika left. She ignored Mireille's lingering stare, and went through the sliding door onto their veranda.

Then, Kirika slumped forward, gripping the railing.

"What have we done?" she croaked.

…

Screams. She felt the trickle of fear, but it was more like a dream. Yeah, just a dream. She was safe. Always has been. Nothing to worry about anymore. She relaxed again, succumbing to the thick cocoon of dark velvet.

Again, unearthly cries of anguish snuck into her consciousness. More like echoes, very distant, muted, as if down a long hallway.

Something pricked the comfort of sleep. Not a scream, but a shout. It was soft, feminine, but still worried. It became more familiar the more it said her name. She fought the deep sleep that had consumed her, clawed at the heavy weight pinning her down. It called for her again. She continued to struggle against the pull of sleep.

Finally, reality swept in, washed away the darkness.

Choking in terror, Riki's eyes flew open. All she saw were smears of color. Blurs. She heard noise, then words, echoing, as if in a dreamy chamber. But they eventually became more audible, and just like that a wave of confusion hit her, blistered with panic. She willed her eyes to adjust to the new light, not as blinding as a supernova, but still bright like the sun.

Like the lens of a camera sharpening its focus, everything became clear. Riki stared up at a clay-red ceiling. An exotic, tingly fragrance crept into her nostrils, igniting her senses.

"Riki!"

She blinked, moving her head sideways—and everything hurt. Even before she had moved a muscle, she already felt her whole body bruised. Muscles taut, overstretched, overused. A tingle in her arms. Most of all, burning in her neck. She gasped softly, moaned. Riki tried to sit up, but it was too much to take in. The world seemed to spin; a swirling mist of faces and color and light—as if she'd rolled down a hill too long, like a blissfully ignorant child.

Audriane sat next to her, reaching over but too afraid to touch Riki. "It's ok. We're safe," she began.

Despite her pain, Riki jerked up in bed, eyes mad.

"Don't." Kirika held her by the shoulder, slowly pushing her back down. "You're hurt. Don't strain yourself . . ."

Riki thrashed Kirika's hand aside. She tried getting out of bed, but Kirika gently pushed her back down—this time, with straightened arms, pushing harder against Riki's shoulders. Audriane contributed to the effort, clumsily grappling Riki's ankles.

"We _safe_, Riki," said Audriane softly, her voice cracking with panic. "No one attacking. We safe!"

"I'm sorry," begged Kirika. Her face wrinkled in earnest.

Riki stilled, as if finally realizing Kirika wasn't a man with a gun.

From behind them, Mireille watched. "How'd you do that?" she asked Kirika, hand on her hip.

"It was _me_," said Kirika. "My bullet grazed your neck so that the force would disable you, and the required blood loss would knock you out unconscious but keep you alive. It was the only way to save you."

Riki strained her eyes as she stared. She examined Kirika's sleeveless hoodie, its indigo losing its vibrancy. There was a hint of thin wool underneath, revealing a slit of her stomach. Her denim skirt—or was it _skorts_?—was short, but not scanty, leading down to pink, aging clogs that apparently proved useful during all that running around.

But within seconds, Riki glowered at Mireille in her ruffled sleeves that drooped, exposing the beautiful roundness of her shoulders, and laces crisscrossing at the center. Her dark jean shorts had brown leather _x's_ on their sides.

And the blonde hair-bun. Suddenly, Riki remembered everything. The warped memories became solid, as if they stood in the flesh, as real as Audriane, Mireille, and Kirika next to her.

_"You're the receptionist!"_ gasped Riki. She instantly clamped her jaw to the throb in the side of her neck.

"Forgive me, Riki," said Audriane. "Rest! Your anger hurting veins in your neck."

Through gritted teeth, Riki said calmly as she could, "Talk!"

"What?" said Mireille.

"Before I punch your blonde brains out, TALK!" Riki winced.

"Funny, that's something you certainly know how to do—."

"We deserve an explanation!"

"A simple thanks would suffice."

The tension between Riki and Mireille was palpable. But Audriane shared Riki's agony. If there was one thing the two of them agreed on, it was Mireille's attitude.

Audriane turned, eyes hot and heavy on the assassins.

"Riki's right," she said. "Now the time to explain. Who are they? Why you save only us—?"

Riki whispered, "Or my friends? Or . . . Sakuya?"

"Unfortunately, we haven't been informed of a Sakuya," said Kirika with a pensive frown.

Audriane paused. "Sakuya?"

Something grotesque flashed before Audriane's mind's eyes. The cafeteria. She had recognized a few kids from her classes, having only been in Tokyo for more than two weeks. But how could she forget one of the popular girls? How could she forget _those_ eyes? _Sakuya_. Her chest so bloody that Audriane couldn't locate where the bleeding was coming from. She was staring at Audriane, almost as if begging for help, with half-dead eyes. But then Audriane fled . . .

Such daunting, unforgettable eyes threw Audriane in a vortex of guilt. Especially when she watched Riki resist the tears brimming her eyes; her reddening nose, the taut lines forming around her frown. It was the lunatic look of someone who lost something.

Riki's voiced cracked. "You've only been informed of _us_. Just us two."

Mireille nodded. "You could say that."

"Who are you murderers?"

Mireille glared. "Choose your words carefully."

Riki didn't skip a beat, her throat rumbling low: "Talk, and maybe I will."

"We could have used that boldness during the fight," half-joked Mireille.

"Now Riki awake," said Audriane, berated, voice rising. "_Now_ the time to talk."

Mireille sighed and put her cup on bedside table. It couldn't be avoided. She had been hoping to explain after their flight, just so they wouldn't attempt escape. However, the quickest plane she could grab was not until first thing in the morning at six. It was currently midnight—it was going to be another long night.

Might as well.

Mireille leaned her elbow on the table. "Yes, everything was intentional. They did it hoping one of the students was you two. We dunno who they are, sort of speak."

_"Help me help you."_

Mireille tried to mentally squeeze out flashbacks. Her wavering eyes already drew in Riki and Audriane's.

"Well?" asked Riki impatiently.

"_I can help. I can save you both."_

Should she tell them the truth? No, it would only scare them away. There was no way children at this age would go with it. No. Not ever. But would they go with _this_, too?

But Mireille had to. She had to say _something_ . . .

Mireille felt the poison on her tongue as she murmured, "You have been chosen to . . ."

"Chosen?" repeated both freshmen.

"To save . . . the innocent," blurted Mireille, almost embarrassed to say it. Having to have said it seriously was comical in itself, especially knowing this was how the _Soldats_ viewed their ideals. Saving the world . . .

Mireille gauged the girls' expressions. What she felt was ridiculous seemed to hit a nerve in them. The silence was so sharp and tight, it could break like glass any second.

"They're after you, and they won't stop till you're dead," continued Mireille, feeling strength in her words the more she pressed on. "You're safest with us. We can teach you how to fend for yourselves."

She hadn't fully answered Audriane's question, but she hoped this dark spit of truth would convince them to listen. To go with them.

Riki blinked, returning to reality. Her eyes emitted an incredulous glow. "Is that really why this all happened? Because we—two teenagers—are a potential threat? Us? The world's after us because of _that_? I don't buy it."

Mireille frowned, shrugging. "Your opinion. But it doesn't change the fact that people want you dead—and I don't need to prove _that_. So, you can choose to learn how to use a simple gun . . . or die."

"None of it makes sense!" shouted Riki, wincing at fire in her neck.

"Like it or not, you're involved," said Mireille. "Whether or not we came, you _were_ targets. Should I repeat myself?"

In no time, Audriane's breathing became varied: slow and uncertain—then panicked. She began to hyperventilate. Next to her, Riki sat there, sullen in thought, almost to the point of blanking out. Both of them felt a sickening gamut of fear, desperation, sadness, and most definitely confusion.

"I didn't ask for this," whispered Riki, feeling around her body as if something was crawling all over her. "I . . . I had a good life." She covered her mouth, as if to keep it all in. She wheezed, veins in her neck and temples popping, showing that she could burst any moment. It was almost painful watching her resist the pain, of reality finding its roots around her throat.

Her resistance to cry only infected Audriane.

"I just came to Japan!" whispered Audriane. "I wanted good education, away from home—!"

"They were GOOD to me!" gasped Riki. "They weren't my real family, but they were good! Why'd anyone wanna take that from me? I haven't _done_ anything—I don't know those people, how do they know me—!"

"Please, don't cry," began Kirika, sagging with remorse.

"Why do people do that? WHY DO GOOD PEOPLE HAVE TO DIE?"

Mireille and Kirika remained silent.

"All my friends . . . they were good people! Masami, Asuke, Akko—Ojiru . . . they were good . . . and Sakuya . . ."

Audriane shot up from her chair. "Bring us home, NOW!"

Home. Family.

Mireille once knew this feeling, this hot passion of the heart, but only discovered that her chest had gone numb.

She whispered, "I can't. They might have already found your families. We can't risk that."

She didn't know if what she said was true—but knowing the Soldats, it was possible. After all, _Mireille_ was living proof of that. But even though her throat went raw, even though her stomach went sour, Mireille continued to lie:

"Actually, they're probably dead—so you _have_ to stay with us."

"You don't know that!" urged Riki. "You're professionals! Stop them! Just like how you could have saved all those students—!"

Audriane looked at Riki. It was weird. She knew Riki was thinking about Sakuya. She'd seen Riki around all sorts of crowds, and from time to time, with that Sakuya sophomore. Then again, Audriane had only been around for a little while, so what did _she—_a mere international student—know?

She wasn't stupidly hopeful, though. While Riki was unconscious, Audriane, Mireille, and Kirika saw the news: almost a quarter of the school body was dead. Audriane didn't recall Sakuya reported among the wounded or living.

Yet, Riki was still bent on going back there. Even now.

No. Despite everything, Audriane couldn't let Riki endanger them, just for a dead classmate. Audriane planned to _live_.

She was glad the adults seemed to be on the same page.

"You can't go back there. Your safety is our top priority," said Kirika. "All you have . . . is each other."

Riki sobbed, wiping her face, glancing at Audriane through a hazy vision. "I don't even know her! You expect me to stay with you and her in this hotel for who knows how long—?"

"No," said Mireille, so softly, that Riki and Audriane looked at her intensely, enough to hush their sobs to whimpers and hiccups. "We expect you to _live_ with it."


	4. Chapter 4: Strangers

Chapter 4

Stranger

"Are we there yet?" repeated Riki, cheek squashed against her window.

"To think how old that saying is, and yet how annoying it can still be," said Mireille.

"At least she's recovered," said Kirika. She seemed more relieved than her partner, though.

"You really suck at answering questions," said Riki behind Mireille.

Mireille smacked the horn, swerving the van for a second, volume rising: "We just got in the car and we're ON OUR WAY TO THE AIRPORT."

"Riki," said Audriane, "you kill us before we get on highway."

"It's not my fault she's quick-tempered," said Riki, shrugging. "I'm not trying to be annoying or anything—"

_"Really!"_ shouted Mireille.

Kirika interrupted, "The road, Mireille."

"The number one killer isn't a blade, but a wheel," recited Riki matter-of-factly.

"There's more where that pain in your neck came from!" said Mireille. She merged into the middle lane. At the same time, a car on the other side wasn't paying attention, and nearly cruised into them. She honked, having to stomp the accelerator and speed ahead, repeatedly beeping at the driver even though he was far behind her.

_"Mireille,"_ said Kirika in a defeated sigh.

"No, really, I want our educated freshman in high school to figure this out," said Mireille as calmly as she could. "If we're going fifty miles per hour and we need to be at the airport by two o'clock—and it takes about thirteen hours and fifty-five minutes to Spain, exactly how many hours does it take to get there? You do the math."

Riki refused to entertain Mireille's sarcasm, and said nothing.

"Would you like that in multiple choice format?" added Mireille.

Audriane blurted, "She texts in class."

"Thank you. That explains everything."

It felt like the tension could swell up the van and blow it up any minute. Feeling gained up on, Riki threw up her hands in defeat. She rolled her eyes, and even though it wasn't obviously directed at Audriane, her peer responded with a scowl. Her attitude reminded Audriane of their last time together, as lab partners—

Audriane exhaled. She had to stop thinking like that, especially after all that trauma they went through.

Now . . . it was always about what would happen next, and she hated that feeling.

So she continued to watch Riki. She could only imagine it would get grim for the once-popular high school girl. From here on out, Riki was seeing the world differently now. Audriane feared it would worsen the indifference that already existed there, that it would affect future predicaments.

Audriane watched the world pass by. All that hard work to get into one of Tokyo's best high schools, reduced to nothing but flashes outside the window. She yearned to be again lost in the city glamour and ignorant bliss.

As the past events sunk in her heart, she realized this world wasn't what she thought. It was as if something had been planted there inside her heart from birth, had been unlocked, and was slowly rising up her body, up her throat, and seeping into her mind like water under a door. Like waiting for a tsunami to crash into your house.

And yet, she still refused to accept anything at the same time. Her clashing thoughts and feelings were becoming a thorn in her chest, so tight, it made it hard to breathe, to endure sitting there with all these strangers. She was restless. She wanted to get out of there as much as Riki did, bust open her door and roll out the car if it didn't mean dying on the spot. Despite these feelings, she had thought about it and knew she wouldn't know where to go from there.

All the while, she sensed Mireille's eyes on them in her rear-view mirror.

…

_Why?_ thought Riki. Why did the good people die?

It couldn't be helped, but that last timid, brief, yet tender moment with Sakuya left a print on her. Perhaps it was the last genuine human connection, the only kindest, smallest gesture she experienced before this dark wall slapped her in the face. Funny, that it was with a school rival.

The words _It's not fair_ marched across the black film of her mind.

"It's not fair," whispered Riki.

She heard a sigh from the front seat.

"Look," said Mireille tiredly, "we'll explain everything when we arrive at Etxarren. I promise you that."

"The _what_?"

"You're awfully awake asking questions at four in the morning—."

"It's Basque for 'stone house'," interrupted Kirika.

"Basque?" asked Audriane.

"One of the most distinct cultural people of France and Spain," explained Kirika. "Their language, _Euskara_, shares no common roots with any other. Almost separate, almost alien, almost dead. Depending on where you are in the Basque Country. When they were first recorded in history, even before there was a name for them, they were known for defending their land and culture, making complex choices about the degree of independence that was needed to preserve their way of life, while looking to the rest of the world for commercial opportunities to ensure their prosperity."

Mireille didn't blame the high schoolers' lingering silence. _"Ok,"_ she said. "Well. That was a lot of research. For what purpose, though?"

"Chloe," said Kirika, no falter in her voice. "I wonder if she was probably of a lost Basque blood. Recall that small village in the Pyrenees?"

"Vaguely," said Mireille. "I thought she was Eurasian—."

"The maroon hair, the pale skin complexion, the beady eyes, thick eyebrows, the long earlobes, strong straight nose. Yes. So many of the Basque children resembled Chloe."

"Who?" asked Audriane.

Kirika paused. "A friend."

"Was . . .?"

"Yes." Kirika exhaled. "Anyway, Etxarren means 'stone house'. It stood for a clan. I'm assuming Chloe came from a clan that worshipped or participated in . . . _certain_ beliefs. I wouldn't be surprised if her people handed over their children to _them_. After all, some Basques are people of the olden days, much similar in nature to certain villagers we . . ."

Kirika trailed off, faking to lose train of thought.

Mireille caught it, though. _Don't slip anything, Kirika . . ._

"Interesting," said Audriane. "Tell us more."

"Unlike most societies known for developing clans," continued Kirika, "the Etxarren was unique because it became the central concept in the Basque identity of _belonging_. Their notion was, to preserve. Everything revolved around the Etxarren: beliefs, tombs, and names of the founders—carved over the doorway to the house—which its descendants continued to bear. If the Etxarren or its founders died long ago, descendants would still be preferred to as the name of the Etxarren."

"It's like they're trapping us in their beliefs," muttered Mireille, more to herself so that the children wouldn't hear.

"Ok?" scoffed Riki.

For the first time, Mireille was about to agree with the brat. She had never been aware of Kirika's sudden interest in such a subject. In fact, Kirika was _ranting_. Mireille had never seen her do that . . .

It made sense, though. Chloe always had a special place in Kirika's heart, and Mireille had to accept that—

Except Kirika didn't sound like she knew for sure if Chloe was Basque. Mireille feared her friend would be disappointed if all that research was proven wrong—but for now, she decided to let Kirika think what she wanted. This was probably why Kirika agreed to bring Riki and Audriane to Europe . . . so she could investigate Chloe's history along the way.

Kirika pressed on. "The Basques believed by naming something, it proved its existence. _Izena duen guzia omen da—_'That which has a name exists'."

Something clicked in Mireille. _I see. She wants to keep Chloe's memory alive. She thinks the only way is by learning as much about Chloe as possible, like where she was from . . . her life before Noir._

Riki nearly choked with laughter. "Ok. So, how does this apply to us?"

"It's your new home," said Mireille, offended for some reason.

"Why are we going to live in some mountains and stone house with some dying civilization?"

"To hide you and train you, of course."

"_What_ training?" blurted Riki.

"We train you until the time comes when you can survive on your own—"

"We can't survive against men like those at the school!" burst Riki. "Why did they want us? What's going on—GOD, I'm sick of these riddles! Speak better Japanese, dammit!"

The silence thickened. It only said so much more to the children, though.

Honestly, the last thing Noir expected in their line of business was _kids_.

Riki glared at Mireille in the rear-view mirror. "Tell us the truth."

Audriane recognized an unmistakable spark in those eyes. When she looked back at Mireille and Kirika, she knew that despite all misunderstandings, she had no one to trust but Riki. After all, they suffered something together. They would get out of this _together_ . . . right?

Meanwhile, Mireille was caught up in her own confusion. _These_ kids? Really? The Soldats wanted them?

Their "trials", their stupid _games_, have always been erratic. For all they knew, the Soldats were waiting to see which two students survived the massacre. But then again, they handed Noir the two student IDs and passports to transport them to Europe. What was it about these two that interested them—_him_—so much?

What was the Soldat process like, to say, "I want a new Noir", and send servants out to study _children_ from afar for any potential?

Did Riki and Audriane ever suspect they were being watched? Mireille shook her head to herself. _Of course not._ Children don't know about stuff like this. They're children, they're innocent. But if Mireille were to ask them to think back on it, would it scare them—that being chosen meant they've been watched a majority of their lives? How long has this been this anyway? Mireille couldn't help but apply this to her own life.

"_Why?" _asked Mireille in a careful tone."Why did they choose you two?"

No one knew the answer, and no one answered. In fact, the rattling of the van lulled the two teenagers to sleep. It was about time sleep caught up. Audriane's cheek was against her hand, elbow awkwardly propped onto the windowsill, head kept bobbing off her palm. Riki was slumped against her seat, her hands in her lap.

Mireille exhaled. "Is it their personality, their ability, or something else? What makes these kids similar—?"

"And what makes them different from past Saplings?" added Kirika.

"_Nothing_." Mireille laughed dryly. "They're just like we were: children, raised by the Soldats in different parts of the world, in different ways."

"Perhaps . . . it's because we're curious. We want to watch them grow, as if to relive our childhoods, but through different lenses. Maybe . . . this is our chance to save _their_ childhoods."

"_No_, Kirika." There was that tone of Mireille's . . .

Kirika frowned. "Riki's right. It's not fair."

"It's either them, or us. It's always been that way in our line of work. Against the Soldats, against the world. The Three Saplings. The stupid Trinity to a bunch of self-righteous cults." Mireille grumbled and shook her head. "If only I could say that were in the past . . ."

"Yet we still aren't free," said Kirika. "And the next generation won't be either."

….

The airport was like a giant air conditioner: the clatter of machines, the hissing and clamor of aircraft. Like impatient teapots, steaming.

The people were just as impatient, except they murmured. Some coughed, others laughed or muttered in conversation; most, muted, as if blocked by a wall in the distance. There was something fake and trapped about these sounds. Like a far-off, indistinctive dream. They merged into one giant sound one learns to tune out.

Riki sat on the far end of the row of seats. Audriane was to her left, next to Kirika, who sat between her and Mireille, who looked like she wanted to sit far from Riki as possible—who didn't mind, but at the same time, it gave her more reason to despise her "savior". The more that word popped in her head, the more she questioned it, and the more it became "captor".

Riki looked out the weeping windows. It was misty and bleak outside. To some, it was the most beautiful thing to hear: the soft crackling and pounding of rain, with mist spraying off the machinery, making everything emit a glow. To others like herself, it was a reminder that life would be sad from then on.

"It's not often I walk out in the rain," said Kirika conversationally.

Audriane followed her gaze, stopping on Riki, before her hazel eyes wandered to the faded outside. They watched the workers outside dodge the falling silver in their neon raincoats.

"That's why," continued Kirika, "I disagree with hot, dry places: same, boring, bright. Rain renews, it refreshes. The trees and grass seem to pop more."

That last statement was cheery. It was the most chirp Kirika expressed since their first encounter. Audriane tried to read her, but she feared to see what lurked there in stranger's eyes. How did this quiet, gentle woman become a killer?

Kirika wore a thin, but genuine smile. It was a moment of truth for Audriane that was gone in a flash as Kirika looked around in a daze.

Mireille yawned. "Some coffee would be nice," she said absent-mindedly, reading a magazine she just bought.

"I'll go get some," proffered Kirika. She returned minutes later, handing Mireille coffee and other miscellaneous things that the blonde slipped into her pink and white purse.

When Kirika sat down next to Mireille, she murmured, "We've got another one."

Audriane overheard. "Huh?" she asked.

Mireille didn't change her tone or her expression as she flipped through her magazine. "Men following us. You'll get used to it."

"More of them?" gasped Audriane, looking around, turning her head this and that. She didn't see him at first, but she saw the older man two rows behind them. He was in a beige coat, reading his paper looking up at them more than one normally would. When he looked her right in the eye, Audriane looked down into her lap.

"What do we do?" she whispered, breaking out in a sweat.

Mireille didn't act like she heard her at all. In fact, she slammed her magazine hard into her lap. "Damn, it's like they don't trust us!" she hissed.

"It's not like we trust them either," said Kirika.

"At least it's mutual," grumbled Mireille.

The spy didn't seem startled that they noticed him. But when Mireille refused to look away and just sat there and _glared_ back, he nervously ducked behind his newspaper.

Audriane watched with anticipation. She couldn't believe they weren't going to take him out or do _something_. Then again, would they, in this public setting? She didn't even know what they were up against. Noir refused to explain anything to them and she doubted they would ever answer their questions until they deemed it necessary. Whenever that would be.

She looked around and saw a security guard. She could just walk close to him pretending to look at some magazines, and casually tell him about being held captive . . .

"I wouldn't," said Kirika; Audriane's heart beat fast. "When I said 'we got another one', it meant there were more spies in this airport."

"She's right," said Mireille. "Make a move, and they'll probably blow us all up, or start a shoot-out. Other than the school massacre, it's not their style, but, I wouldn't risk it."

Audriane blanked out, frozen with stress, anticipation, and decision-making. She looked over to Riki occupied by the rain.

"It's a beautiful sound," blurted Kirika. "The rain."

"I hate it," said Mireille apathetically, thinking of the Beladonna Lily woman at the graveyard.

Audriane tried to appreciate what little there was to appreciate and understand. It was the only thing to do there. To listen. _Tap, tap. Pat, slap._ The cement became dimpled with raindrops, as if the ground was alive. Squirming. Dancing. Reflecting a more vibrant world—a better world than the reality they lived in.

"It's like in a mirror," said Kirika, who suddenly stood next to Riki, in front of the window, watching the rain. "The closest to heaven we'll ever get, when the reflection's just right." She smiled at Riki. "Something some friends taught us."

_Chloe?_ thought Audriane. She felt the urge to ask, but realized it didn't matter to her. None of this did. The gray weather only dampened her mood as they all sat in silence despite the noise of the airport. So many people, yet not one who cared.

"Pity. The music stopped," said Kirika, craning her neck, glancing outside.

For some reason, Riki understood her, and agreed.

Everything was strange.

Everything was going to be different.


	5. Chapter 5: Basque Border

**Author's Note:** listen to this cool Basque music for ambience, just for fun. Sounds like it'd belong in the Noir soundtrack, don'tcha think?  watch?v=rr-KUjjkJHs

Chapter 5

Basque Border

They wasted no time. The moment they landed in Madrid, Spain, they knew from then that strangers would follow them everywhere. Sometimes the spies were in their black suits; some blended in with the crowds like the guy from the airport. This naturally struck fear in the students' hearts—whatever convinced them to stick with Noir, their only means of protection. And whatever dissuaded fleeing.

The party rented a vehicle and retreated along the Pyrenees Mountains, occasionally stopping at small villages for a day or two to complete the children's recovery, and stopping at restaurants off the side of the road.

Deeper into the mountain range, they stopped by the narrow dirt road, and stepped out of the car to stretch, go to the bathroom, or munch. Audriane stumbled down the hillside to puke from all the winding turns; Kirika admired the valleys; Mireille kept her eye on Riki. At one point, when she saw Riki looking down the road, she declared "escape was futile". It was miles and miles before Riki would ever find anyone for help. Not to mention spies for the Soldats would shoot her. To end their glaring contest, Mireille persuaded the children to get back inside the car to eat and drink.

The snacks and the long drive was enough to send Riki and Audriane into slumber—all the time Noir needed.

"They out?" asked Mireille at the wheel.

"The drugs worked," said Kirika, stuffing water bottles and wrappings of snacks into an empty grocery bag. She looked back at the children. "Forgive us. It's so you don't know where we're going."

From there on, they continued driving the nowhere.

…..

"So . . . where's the Etxarren?" asked Audriane.

"Well, to find out, we gotta hike there," said Mireille, eying the kids as though they were morons.

_"Hiking?"_ said Riki, mouth slightly ajar.

Mireille started up the mountain. Riki glared after the blonde in her pretty lacy red tanktop, jean shorts, and rather fashionable knee-high soft leather boots laced with soft strings. She couldn't believe this was the type of person who saved her life and now was taking it away from her, telling her what to do.

"What about our car?" asked Riki. It was parked off the side of the road on a flat patch of dirt against a shelf of boulders.

Mireille looked like she didn't want to stop, but she turned. "Don't worry about it," she said.

"Someone could take it!"

"No one's here. Look around you." Mireille continued her hike. "Now hurry up, this is gonna take all day."

"Maybe a few hours longer," added Kirika.

"A _day_?" echoed Riki, almost horrified.

"Some Noir." Mireille rolled her eyes, and resumed up a lopsided path strewn with oddly-shaped boulders.

The children waited for Kirika to move, who was toying with her gun and cleaning it. If anything, the weapon's presence didn't make them feel safe. When Kirika finally stuffed it into the left breast of her cargo vest, she followed Mireille, who was already gaining distance between them.

"So . . . we live in a village in mountains?" asked Audriane, catching up with Kirika.

Kirika frowned, tentative. "It's not safe to be around people. The more people, the more chances of Soldats blending in with a crowd. If anyone approached the Etxarren, however, we'd know immediately."

"Did it have to be that far into the mountains, away from the rest of the world?" exclaimed Riki.

"We're not traveling by car anymore because hiking is safer and stealthier means to cover ground to the Etxarren."

"You're not afraid, are you?" said Mireille, who had waited for them. She glared at the freshmen, impatient. "When you're done socializing with the men that been following us, feel free to join us."

She wheeled around sharply, Kirika and Audriane following.

Riki stayed behind, angry. She looked around them for any sign of the men that had been following them. She hadn't seen any signs of them for the entirety of their drive, but experience told her they were watching. How, she didn't know. But she did know these men were playing around, never attacking, only drawing near enough for the party to keep them on edge. Riki hated that.

Everyone quickened their pace after Mireille. Riki looked behind them, watching the lone, skinny dirt road grow smaller below them.

Out in the open, the rich green seemed flat, as if there was no grass, where rocks were seldom. It was early noon. The air was hot, but clean. The clear sky made it easy to carve out every crisp detail, every rock, path, tree, or hill drop. Gold seemed to drape the mountainsides in blankets; only on closer hills did they realize it was bushes overwhelmed by yellow flowers. In the more naked spots, the landscape was dotted in gray rocks of all shapes and sizes, as if smoothed out by a meticulous potter.

"The Cantabrians," said Mireille, inhaling the air. "The always changing landscape."

_Bzzz!_ Riki slapped her arm. "Dammit."

"Not a nature girl, huh?" That was a statement.

"No, just not a bug person."

They were trekking a zigzagging riverbank. Mireille and Kirika had jumped over, but Riki and Audriane carefully tip-toed across rocks overrun by swift water. Here, there was longer grass; softer, in pads, almost like moss.

"You weren't much of a nature girl either, Mireille," said Kirika.

Her partner paused on a flat rock in the river, and glared. "I came from _Corsica_. This is basically home." She added a passing glance at Riki. "And it'll be yours."

Riki said nothing.

This insulted Mireille. _"Enjoy _it."

…

"How do our Saplings fare in waning light?"

"According to our men, they're on their way to the Etxarren."

The assistant poured a bottle of _Apothic Rosso_ into her lord's wine glass. He sipped from it, smiling with approval. When she turned to leave, her called to her.

"If you have a moment, Shirihime." His gloved hand waved her over. "Take a breather. Admire the mountains, the jewel of Europe."

_I've seen the them plenty of times_, thought Shirihime. She looked anyway, through the wall of glass. The Cantabrians' addicting green softened into orange under the sunset.

"I have matters to deal with," said Shirihime. "Which you assigned me, if you recall."

"Such delicate things take time to nurture. Let them grow as time permits."

Shirihime watched the bird perched on his index finger, its brown stripes pouring down its chest and around its head like rays. Her lord brushed his finger through its triangular crest. Then he sauntered over to the glass made of multiple small windows, cranked one of them open, and tossed the bird into encouraging flight. It did not hesitate to fly away.

Shirihime sighed in dismay. "Sir Asher, must we always waste thousands of dollars to replace each one you free? What's the point of buying them, if you're going to only set them free? Such groomed creatures, couldn't possibly survive the wild—?"

"Perhaps," said Asher. "Can one expect something _sheltered_ in good care to survive on its own? This is why the Soldats keep their hands tentatively around the frightened bird. Let us encourage the fledgling to bend broken wings and face the chaotic winds of the world. Through Noir, we spread the lessons that which pain brings, especially in this modern society. That is the ideal of this faction."

Shirihime chuckled. "You sound like an environmentalist."

Asher laughed heftily. "Maybe." His eyes dimmed, lost in thought. "While Noir may indeed be 'blacker than black', it was meant to endure for the people, while accompanying each other in the forgiveness of each other's love."

His assistant was speculative. "What is Noir to you? Underdog, underworld dog? An angel, a Messiah?" She chuckled at that last statement.

"So much more," said Asher. "So much more . . ."

Shirihime looked back out the window.

Not a good enough answer.

…

The Cantabrians had been flat earlier in their journey. Now, it became hours of pushing themselves up steep slopes speckled with rocks; tracing a flat line right between valleys to stay on flatter and easier terrain; and grumbling stomach and nonstop complaints, even though they had plenty of snacks and water.

The end of the day rewarded them with a crystal-clear lake—a bowl of water surrounded by dangerous litters of rock and tree-covered slopes.

Mireille pulled out a map. While she examined it, she said aloud, "This enclosed lake is a great fortification against attacks—perfect isolation for target practice." She pointed at shards of boulders that jutted from a row of mountains rolling in the distance, like spikes on the back of a stegosaurus. "If we ever got surrounded, we could flee between those. They'd make good cover."

"So would all the trees," said Kirika, placing her finger on the map. "Here is our Etxarren, just on the edge of the trees and the lake. We could keep a look out for helicopters or enemies advancing down the mountains surrounding the lake . . ."

"And the enemy won't see us," said Mireille, smiling triumphantly. "Not bad."

So they started their awkward descent to the lake. The unpredictable rocks made it difficult to get down, almost like trying to shuffle down a landslide, but when they made it, they circled the lake to get to Etxarren.

"Just in time," said Kirika, beaming at the sunset.

"What do you mean?" asked Audriane.

"I'm glad we get to see it in this beautiful light."

"_This_ is our home?" scoffed Riki.

"Give it props for surviving time," quipped Mireille.

"What are we, peasants?" joked Riki.

"Be grateful you're under a roof, princess."

They stood in front of rectangular stone house, not too far from the lakeshore. Its back was planted against a massive boulder three stories high—as if it was _part_ of the boulder. Soft moss-like patches of grass clung to its cracks. The roof was stone as well, flattened out smoothly with an arching slope on both sides. Grass also found its way there, in cracks or bullet-sized holes. A fat, wide, low chimney sunk into the very middle of it.

"Don't worry. Here, it seems out in the open," said Mireille, "but from bird's-eye-view, Etxarren isn't easy to see, especially since it looks like the rocks around it."

They stood right outside Etxarren, in wide and open flat grass and scattered rocks. The trees that crept up the mountainside behind seemed to cover Etxarren from bird's-eye-view.

Kirika and Audriane entered. Riki stayed put, refusing to take another step. She regarded the musty, old, boring stonewalls—with typical square windows of faint re-brown shutters—with disgust. Not because of the architecture, but because of its purpose.

From behind, Mireille moved Riki's head like it was a camera, and forced her to scan the panorama.

"Enjoy," she sang in Riki's ear.

The teenager ripped away from her. She watched Mireille disappear through the most boring, decrepit, small door framed with irregularly-shaped stones that were faded red.

Riki walked around the house to further inspect its condition. On the right side, the wall was flat, two rows of windows spread far apart. The windows at the top were very small, the ones below them average-sized but still small; they made the house seem bigger. Riki looked closer to see that one of them was actually a set of doors with opened shudders. A wooden board stuck out from the wall, with a chair and buckets and flowerpots stacked on top of it. Barely enough room for two people to sit there to enjoy the view.

Underneath it, was Audriane, who emerged from a hidden dip under the house—a gaping darkness held up by weak beams and planks. Hay splattered the dry mud floor.

"A barn!" said Audriane, waving to Riki, trotting up to her. The stench of mulch and manure hit Riki like a wall. "There a horse inside, too!"

Mireille and Kirika appeared on the window-board above Audriane.

"Sir Asher didn't mention a horse," said Kirika, sitting on the edge.

"I guess shooting isn't the only thing we need to learn," said Mireille.

Riki and Audriane didn't skip a beat when they heard the unfamiliar name Kirika mentioned. "Sir Asher?"

"Come inside—let's get settled first," said Mireille.


	6. Chapter 6: Paths

Chapter 6

Paths

The stone fireplace threw shadows all over the living room; they stretched and took haunting shapes, something the children realized they needed to get used to.

The Etxarren was ancient with no electricity, so they'd have to get used to sleeping, eating dinners, roaming the perimeters, or peeing in the dark. No more lights or the comfort of friendly strangers on the busy Tokyo streets. The "new Noir" must soak themselves willingly in the darkness, if at least by candlelight.

Mireille and Kirika lit the fireplace but kept it low. Indeed, the evenings were cold, but the climate was still balmy enough to endure. They didn't want to risk the enemy spotting them in the wilderness.

"Sir Asher is the man who hired us as your guides," said Mireille, leaning against the concaved stone shelf in the wall; it held a pot of flowers, the same yellow and white-pinkish ones from outside. "He covered our airfare, our car, our hiking gear. And your training, and for the surrounding woodland protection of his personal bodyguards. Nothing's better than no-man's-land to hide from the enemy."

"So the men following us weren't something to worry about?" asked Audriane, almost berated. "Sir Asher provided them as our bodyguards?"

Mireille grunted. "That's what he claims. I still don't trust them."

"Like the ones from the airport?"

"I suppose."

It bothered Audriane that the assassin wasn't too concerned with whether they should trust the suited men. It scared her thinking about how many of there were, _where_ they were positioned in the area.

Riki raised her hand. "Hold it there, blondie—."

Mireille glared at her.

"Whatever—," began Riki.

"Ahem," said Audriane, clearing her throat.

"Sorry, blonde looks good on you," said Riki. "Anyway. This 'Sir Asher'. Who is he? Who are 'they'? I've been hearing you saying 'they' a lot."

Despite the warmth of the fireplace, Kirika's heart chilled, while Mireille remained lost in the mocking flames.

Kirika exhaled, with a worn-out expression speaking for them both. "_They_ . . . are the Soldats. An undying organization, with different factions. Sir Asher is an influential figure in the faction of the Soldats of New. That's all we know about him."

"The Soldats," murmured Audriane, leaning into the wooden table that took up the center of the small main room.

Kirika's voice was laced with caution. "Factions only exist because of clashing ideals. You probably didn't realize this with all that gunfire and panic, but men were shooting at each other at the massacre. We had to fight through both of them, not really knowing who was on our side. Anyway, they were from two different factions: Asher's, and whoever else. The dispute? To figure out what to do with Noir."

"Us," said Audriane flatly. _"Children?"_

"So we're in the crossfire of some gang war?" said Riki bitterly.

"For a long time, many wanted to use Noir in different ways. They interpreted Noir as many things."

"What ways? What is the enticement?" asked Audriane.

Kirika looked at her. "Big words for the Japanese you know. Very good."

Audriane's eyes flashed with pride, yet remained stern with the matter at hand. "I worked hard to get to Japan . . ."

She trailed off, her voice ghostly. It pricked Kirika with sympathy, who shook the guilt off. Laying the boundaries and their safety were top priority now.

"To answer your question, Audriane," said Kirika. "Noir is a complicated, incomprehensible shadow. It's more than just a highly trained assassin raised from a young age, maybe even birth. Noir is chosen for many things . . ."

Kirika paused, as if for dramatic effect. The children looked to Mireille to see if she would add anything, but the blonde looked out at the darkness pressing against the windows.

Riki and Audriane thought about everything just said. It all sounded like nonsense coming from a Grimm fairytale to scare them—but they noticed how the assassins regarded the mention of "Noir" with dazed expressions. There was a sense of feared respect for it. And yet, to them, to a bunch of kids, all they saw was a giant black fog. Hard to see, hard to understand. It was a jumble of meaningless noise.

To Audriane, it was like listening to a bunch of fanatic crusaders.

To Riki, it meant nothing.

"All this rant still makes no sense," said Riki. "It doesn't explain who _you_ are, or why a bunch of cults are after children."

"It doesn't matter who _we_ are," said Mireille. "What matters is that you survive."

"Yes," agreed Kirika solemnly. "Fight through this. Survive—no, _win_. Let us train you to become stronger against men, like the ones that killed your friends. Let us _help_ you. To take down anyone who tries to hurt you. Think of it like that."

"Stop saying things like that. It's creepy," said Riki.

She glanced at Mireille for reassurance against the disturbance she felt, only to be met with a dark expression. She followed Mireille's gaze back to Kirika, who had brought her hands half-way up and contorted her fingers into the shape of gun: the index and middle finger together, her thumb out, placed loyally against her chest.

"Kirika," began Mireille, almost as if to stop her.

"Noir," said Kirika in a dark, steady tone, "it is the name of an ancient fate. Two maidens who govern death. The peace of the newly born . . . their black hands protect."

The teenagers squinted—freaked out, confused, unsettled.

"Blacker than black, burdened by sin, reaching out with mercy," finished Mireille. Her tone was flat in contrast to Kirika's poetic, monotonous recital.

The assassins seemed frozen in place, surrendering to darker times. They didn't care if Riki and Audriane were curious or disturbed—until, after a few minutes, Mireille looked back at them.

"Noir . . . its very lifestyle, its actions and purpose, and love, revolved around that damn quote. You will probably live around it, too."

The girls didn't know how to respond. What did one say to that? It was like out a movie. You could feel and see the event unfold, but you sat there, detached, with nothing to do but watch. Riki and Audriane felt a tangle of unease and curiosity.

"Etxarren," said Mireille reflectively, as she looked around them. "To preserve the Soldats' beliefs. Humph. _Bastards_."

Despite the grip of denial on her, Riki asked, "Why does it sound like something you dread to do—training us? Why do it, then?"

"In this world," said Mireille, stringently, "in THIS world—you do what you must."

Mireille and Kirika looked at each other. Even in the dim orange glow, the freshmen saw something painful. It was gone as Mireille stood up, ushering them to take to their beds upstairs.

…..

Mireille sat on a wide boulder that slanted into the lake. She kicked her bare feet in the water; there was a cold surge, a refreshing sensation. Ripples bobbed the surface. The faint sound of water brushing against the rocks added a comforting hum in the darkness. Kirika joined her from behind, adjusting her eyes to the darkness. Together, they admired the fortress of mountains that curved around the lake. They sat in comfortable silence. And yet, it tingled with the heat of past wounds.

"Mireille . . ." repeated Kirika, as if struggling to confess.

"Yeah," whispered Mireille. "I'm sorry you have to recite that stupid thing."

"We're horrible. We agreed to Asher's contract. We're just as bad as all of them—," began Kirika, but Mireille nearly shouted, startling her.

"We are _not_ Soldats!" Without looking, Mireille slid her hand over her friend's. "If this saves us from the title Noir, then so be it. Even if it means destroying those girls."

Kirika felt like someone punched her in the gut. She wanted to throw up. "They . . . aren't much younger than I was—."

"It's not them I care about, Kirika," snapped Mireille, voice dropping to a delicate whisper.

Before all of this, Kirika would have rejoiced to those words. Now, she only felt guilty.

"We stole them," murmured Kirika. "We may have 'saved' them—but we stole them from their lives. Just like the Soldats. Just like how they stole us from ours."

"They're alive because of us, that's all that matters," said Mireille. "And because of that, so are _you_. Once they are fully trained, this will be over for you and I. We'll be free."

"But _someone_ doesn't like the idea those two becoming the new Noir," said Kirika. "I wonder who sent those other men at the school. They were after Noir, too."

"Who can say. Everyone wants a piece of Noir power these days. It really shouldn't be that surprising."

Something loud—a shrieking, almost foreign—bayed from the barn. It startled them, how inhuman it sounded.

"The horse," said Kirika, looking back to the Etxarren.

In the silver-blue air, Mireille smiled. "First that cat . . . now this."

"We should ride it."

Mireille paused, thinking about the girls sleeping in the Etxarren. She found herself grinning, despite the weight in her chest. "We will. Tomorrow."

"I look forward to it."

Kirika leaned against Mireille, went limp on her shoulder, with serenity on her face that Mireille thought she'd never live to see.

….

Mireille opened the small shutters, and greeted the cool morning air sweeping in. It seemed to wash out the musty smell of the dusty bedroom. She glanced at the bed where Riki laid, snugged under her layers of weathered woolen blankets.

Mireille put her hands on her hips, glaring. "Rise n' shine, beautiful."

"NO!"

"It's a cheesy expression—now wake up. Breakfast."

"_You_ wake up!"

"Enjoy the benevolent morning greetings while they last."

There was no response, save for the papery shuffle of sheets as Riki tossed in bed. Her hand lazily stuck out. Mireille walked up to the side of the bed, and with Riki's hand, pulled her whole body out. The young girl crumbled to the floor, head-first, her legs arching over her back.

At the doorway, Audriane flinched, but grinned, entertained.

"I promised my partner we'd horse-ride, so hurry up," said Mireille, dragging Riki a couple more feet before letting go and walking out the door. She disappeared, her footsteps thudding down the creaking staircase.

Riki glared at Audriane giggling in the doorway. "Some training," she growled.

Audriane's expression fell. "At least they're feeding us."

They weren't quite awake yet—in the sense that, waking up to a sunny, peaceful morning felt surreal to them. Even as they galloped down the steps, it still didn't feel like last night had been a bleak discussion around the haunting fireplace. This morning felt oddly Christmas-y, the way their bacon and eggs greeted them. It was like the massacre never occurred, that they never trekked aggressive terrain just to live for who knows how long in desolation. The chirps and warm breeze outside was almost like paradise.

As they attacked their meal without pause, savoring every bite, every lick, every trickle of flavor down their chins, they looked around the same living room once tainted by last night's shadows. It was small that it could have been a master bedroom. Nothing but earthly smell, with a big table in the center and a flowerpot on its shelf carved into the wall, and two paintings of farm landscape.

They finished their breakfast fast, eager to officially explore. As they stepped outside, something hard hit Riki. Audriane nearly yelped, hopping, as if on hot lava.

Riki burst, "DA HELL!"

Mireille walked up in those fashionable knee-high boots, a hand on her hip. "Be a doll and get some fresh water from the spring down that trail?" She pointed to an opening into the trees that snaked along the mountainside behind the Etxarren.

Riki gestured wildly. "What happened to that big puddle of water right there we call a LAKE?"

"The horse just shat in it."

The girls looked to the lakeshore and saw the silhouette of a horse, shaking its mane to scare off flies. Its rear faced the water, tail flicking up and down. Kirika stood there, brushing her hand over its velvety neck.

"Oh god, ewe!" exclaimed Riki.

"I don't think it matters—," began Audriane, but Riki had already grabbed the bucket by its thin, wiry handle and picked it up.

When Riki walked by Mireille, she faked to throw it at her. The blonde flinched just a bit, but not enough to bruise her dignity.

"Other way," shouted Mireille.

Without a word, Riki switched directions. She marched past Mireille and Audriane and disappeared into the woods—leaving the two alone.

Audriane looked up at Mireille, everything from the days before gradually washing over her. It was slow, at first. She still had yet to wake up from what felt like the heaviest sleep she'd had since . . . whenever that was. It had been long and sweet, floating. She had felt nothing but exhaustion and the fulfillment of erasing that exhaustion.

But the scarring memories dug their blades, making Audriane's mind race with terror, sending her heart squirming like prey in the mouth of a lion. It was a slap in her face as she remembered the blood, the cries, the bodies, all she knew, gone just like that. What she thought was humanity. Gone. The hope for new friends, starting a new life. Gone. The excitement for life in Tokyo—the excitement for _life_. Gone. Then, the song of bullets—unforgettable.

And the ones responsible, right there.

Audriane didn't look at them as she forced herself after Riki.

….

"Riki, wait!"

Without even showing signs that she heard, Riki kept on walking, dragging the big tin bucket behind her. Audriane caught up, evening her pace with Riki's as they took in their first morning in the mountains.

Patches of weed and grass lined the long dirt path, nothing but green for a few miles. Morning dew defined every blade of grass crying from last night's drizzle. Hard to believe this world was the same as the one of school massacres.

They found the spring Mireille described off the side of the trail. A stream hissed from a hole gaping in the side of a grassy mound. Riki slammed the bucket into the shallow ditch collecting with springwater.

Audriane admired their scenery beyond the spring. Up ahead, she saw a dirt road breaking up into two paths. One continued on out into the open, while the other seemed to wind up higher into the mountainous forest, a gate separating them.

Riki followed her gaze, ignoring the overflowing bucket.

This was the first time they have truly been alone together. They had only shared Chemistry and P.E., for what turned out to be their last semester. Riki dragging an subconscious Audriane around, Audriane taking care of an unconscious Riki, being forced out of the country, and finally sleeping in their shared bedroom in the Etxarren—those didn't count as "quality time". _This_ was it, their first human connection. Audriane wanted to feel it, whatever it was these "Soldats" wanted, but couldn't.

"One path is you and I," murmured Riki.

Audriane blinked, trying to absorb her words.

"The other is the path of Noir . . ." Riki abandoned the bucket and ran toward the path winding up. Audriane expected her to run for it, but Riki turned around to look at her. "I don't walk paths of murderers."

Riki's eyes were fierce and rich like fresh syrup, yet warm like fire. And the way they looked at Audriane . . . it was like a wall slamming into her. She didn't know why, but she really needed someone. She really needed Riki.

Audriane felt a downpour of emotions. Her face scrunched up as she sniffled, wiping away tears with the back of her hands. Everything finally felt real. The mountains, the vast sky, being alone except with Riki. This was her world, now.

_This_ was THE world.

But Riki said it didn't have to be.

So why, with her feet planted into the ground, couldn't Audriane just _run_?

…..

**Author's Note:** for Basque mountain ambience, listen to  watch?v=_HJx29yGEOM

They sat on top of the edge of the bowl, overlooking their lake. If they turned around, they'd be looking down a sheer drop. They could have _ski_ right here, right now. There were teeth of rock down below, gradually dipping steeper and steeper, with risky paths carved in between them.

Riki and Audriane looked up and there were the real giants. The mountains were massive green gods; they almost looked fake and flat against the sky, as if an artist painted the perfect scenery. Bulgy, like a spine, made up of smoky rocks with green skin stretched across them, with a dab of trees.

A flock of sheep dotted the valleys below to their right. The animals grazed next to a river, a thin line winking with sunlight.

"Must be a farm nearby," whispered Audriane, more to herself than to Riki.

"We're out in the wild, remember?" retorted Riki. "So they must be wild sheep."

Despite the mixed feelings they were experiencing, staying out here was the best decision they've made since leaving Japan. Mostly because it felt like it wasn't a man-made environment full of man-made horrors. It was liberating and peaceful. All sadness was gone, just like that. Well, almost.

Tears lined Riki's cheek.

Her classmate didn't seem to notice. "It's so open and beautiful out here."

They stood in silence so sublime, their hearts ached. It was hard not to associate such beauty with the word "freedom", from a darkness they never knew existed. The gunfire and screams all seemed like something they merely saw in a horror film. Like they just walked out of the dark movie theater into the sunny day bustling with crowds around them . . .

They fell in love with the touch of itchy grass against their skin, the hot breeze, and a sight they knew they'd cherish forever. They let the loud hum of summer insects overpower the sound of gunshots in their minds. Surrendering to the wind, they wished it'd carry with it everything they endured.

"How could you do that?" blurted Riki, watching Audriane smile and stretch her arms, greeting the passing breeze; when it was right, it seemed to roar and echo like traffic in the distance.

Audriane understood what she meant. "Well. We safe. Now."

Riki felt a sting of loathing for Audriane. "We won't be for so long."

"That's why I will love these mountains forever."

Riki said nothing. She didn't know what to say.

…..

About forty-five minutes passed since they abandoned the bucket at the spring. They expected Mireille and Kirika to come running after them in a storming fit, but no one ever followed them. So they passed the time wandering the valleys, taking in every rock, every patch of dirt or stream. It felt so easy, so natural to just get lost. The more they explored, the farther from Etxarren—nothing but another bunch of mountains, growing farther and farther away.

Both felt it—the way they looked back over their shoulders every now and then.

They could just _run_.

So why did they keep looking back?

It was a strange anticipation. It was as if they'd already gotten used to people chasing them, even if it was just Mireille and Kirika. Who weren't even their friends. Not even acquaintances or partners. Not even friendly strangers. They didn't know how to regard their saviors, people who didn't seem from this world, yet felt so normal—so normal, they were like wolves in sheep's skin, that it didn't feel right . . .

"I haven't seen any . . . _Soldats_ spying us, so they claim," said Riki. "Wonder if that was all lies too, to mess with our heads."

"Maybe," said Audriane. "Messing with our heads, I mean. By not showing themselves. The Soldats, I mean."

After who knows how long of lying in the grass, walking through streams instead of alongside them, and hopping from rock to rock, they finally came across a monastery.

Riki could care less about a "pile of rubble", but Audriane insisted they check it out. She led the way as they traced along its exterior, feeling every inch of the scratchy, lumpy stone, looking up to the orange shingles, tempted by the building's enthralling mystery.

"You believe in God?" asked Riki from behind.

"Yes. I respect all religions."

"That's nice of you."

They continued to sweep the perimeters. They passed a graveyard guarded by low stonewalls and a black ebony gate that led into it. It wasn't till they walked all around that they found the entrance. A speckled stone path led to smooth steps, then a large wooden double-door. Stained-glass windows stared at them like eyes judging to let them in. Riki stayed outside and waited for Audriane, trying to figure out where they would go from here.

Audriane finally came back out. "I wonder if anyone around," she said.

"What, no one was in there?"

"No."

"Well, you were in there. Did it look like anyone been living in there or something?"

"Not sure."

"Great," said Riki. "I was hoping someone would be able to point us around."

Audriane paused, then added, "What about the Basques?"

"Who?"

"Kirika said 'Basques'."

"You mean the forgotten?" joked Riki.

"Uh, yes?"

"Why are you asking about that, of all things right now?"

"Maybe . . . after this all over, I visit them. Mingle with another culture."

"Japan wasn't enough for you? You were barely there."

"Look how that turned out—."

_Bang. Bang. Fwip. Fwip. _

It was faint, but it was familiar. They stared back down whence they came, looking at the begging mountains—that looked like any other mountains—that led back to the Etxarren. Far off in the distance, far form their concern.

They stared at the woods for a good while, without looking at each other. It was as if they were waiting for the other to make the decision for them—to go back, or run for it.

Audriane moved.

Riki grabbed her hand. "They could care less about us."

"They _saved_ us," reminded Audriane. She didn't know why, but all she could think about was the expression on Mireille and Kirika's faces. "They not telling the whole truth, but . . . they not bad people."

Those last words hung in the air like an annoying thread in Riki's face.

As Audriane side-trotted down the hill, Riki roared, "Why would you save people like them!"

Her partner stumbled and nearly tripped on her way down, but she managed to shout back, "Why would you _not_?"


	7. Chapter 7: Adapt

**Author's Note:** listen to the epic "Salva Nos" live concert version here for this next scene. It would make good for some Noir battle finale, but I couldn't resist to use it now:  watch?v=vT2WiD46lfw

Chapter 7

Adapt

The trail back to Etxarren seemed endless. Audriane had been running hard and wheezing so much that she slowed to a trot. For some reason, she thought Noir would have been dead by now, and almost gave up on it. But she still heard gunshots. After long lapses of trotting, she broke back into running, making a mental note to preserve her energy if things led to fighting.

Then came the hard part—the descent into the lake. Into the trees. Back down that dirt trail, pass the bucket they dropped. Heart racing, she couldn't believe she hadn't run into anyone yet. The gunfire never ceased, ringing throughout the lake.

When she neared the stone house, she was thrown off guard when something big and black charged toward her. The horse. She was about to dive out of the way when a hand struck out from behind its flying mane.

"HOP ON!" shouted Mireille.

Without a moment's hesitation, Audriane turned around and ran along the horse. Her heart leaped when she thought the horse was going to trample her, or that her hand was going to miss, or that she was going to trip. But Mireille caught her hand, her grip stronger than Audriane anticipated.

"Jump _up_!" ordered Mireille. At the same time, Kirika, sitting at the rear, leaned out to assist. It was awkward for her to slump Audriane over her lap, but they managed.

In Audriane's blind attempt to sit up, she heard shouts. It was horrifying trying to situate herself between Kirika and Mireille, the ride more frightening than the noisy chaos.

Bullets flew everywhere. Any second, she'd be dead—she _expected_ to be dead.

Kirika helped Audriane sit up, just as the horse nearly reared up on its hind legs. Mireille slapped the reins violently, crying out, "Hyah!" Her toes pinched or tapped at the horse's sides, making it pick up the gallop. It wasn't enough. Mireille obviously hadn't ridden before. There was a lot of jolting, forward and back, of Audriane slamming unexpectedly into Mireille in front of her. It was worse than a rollercoaster, not being strapped in safely. With this, and the amount of bullets flying around them, Audriane still couldn't believe they weren't dead yet. It was hard to sense their location in the midst of fire, where the Etxarren was, where the trail was . . .

BANG! Audriane almost fell off in fright. Another blast went off. It was Kirika behind her.

"Hold on to me tight—don't look back!" roared Mireille, just as Audriane tried to look over her shoulders to watch Kirika shoot.

"Kirika!" shouted Mireille, as if to signal.

The horse skidded to a deadly halt that nearly broke Audriane's jaw as she smashed forward into Mireille's elbow. Just as they'd stopped, Kirika jumped and grabbed the ledge of a window, then struggled to reach the window above it, the one with the protruding board—and from there, to the roof. Before Audriane could register what she'd done, there were the cries of men falling to Kirika's bullets, who ran along the roof.

A bullet missed Mireille. Both she and Audriane gawked at the window above them, which had opened. There was movement inside. The enemy.

"We just got here!" roared Mireille, steering them away from the window.

Three Knights ran out of the barn, firing at them. Roaring, Mireille charged the horse right at them. But before she even got to them, Kirika leaped off the boulder behind the Etxarren and landed on the horse, between both girls. She struck out both arms, two guns in hand. Two of their enemies from the barn dove to the side to dodge—but Kirika's outstretched arms uppercut both of them in the jaw. Their bodies nearly flipped over, flying past the horse.

The last Knight retreated back into the barn, but as the horse galloped by, Kirika shot him.

"Dupont!" yelled Mireille. "Lesson number one: _roll_! Then find cover and take them down while we distract them—GOT THAT—?"

_"No—!"_

"Good, jump!"

Audriane didn't have to on her own: the horse conveniently bucked in the air when more Knights ran in front of them—throwing her right off.

They say that in life-or-death experiences, things slow down. Well, they didn't. The ground came to meet her; her hands reached out on reflex; she straightened those arms and tucked her head out of fright. Audriane found herself rolling and rolling without wanting to, then, bouncing in all directions like an uncontrollable log. She immediately felt a stab in her back, a cringe in her neck, the raw skinning of her flesh, and the final punch to her stomach as her body thudded against a rock, as she rolled to a brutal stop.

She would have stayed there to vomit, but the sound of bullets was like reacting to the school bell for lunch. She scrambled to her feet and ran.

But Audriane froze where she stood. What she saw wiped away any peace she felt with Riki when they admired the mountains. Made her doubt such emotions could even exist in the same world in which she now stood.

Men, everywhere.

Stepping out from behind boulders, standing on top of them, all around her.

It was the ones with daggers that frightened her the most, the way they prowled toward her menacingly, slowly, with the tangible hunger in their eyes. Eyes that wanted to watch her writhe in pain.

They truly were walking nightmares invading her paradise. What terrifying contrasts to the beautiful green around them.

And those horrible, horrible white sneers.

Audriane was too mesmerized, too scared, to move.

There was an inhuman roar. Then, something hard cracked against the head of one the masked men. It sent a funny-looking vibration from his head to his toes, until he melted to his knees, and collapsed forward.

The thud snapped Audriane from her daze. She turned.

Riki stood there, about to throw another rock in her hand.

"Fire!" roared one of the Knights.

_Fwip, fwip!_ Riki was suddenly a hopping idiot, yelping, high on her toes. Fear for her life washed through Audriane.

But it was enough of a distraction for the horse to run by, while Mireille and Kirika gunned down the enemy. Kirika used the horse's neck to swing around and kick down men, while Mireille fired down stragglers.

"Now take their guns!" ordered Mireille, wheeling the horse toward another group of Knights.

Even with the great distance between them, Audriane and Riki locked eyes. It was pint-sized reassurance to Audriane, as she started toward Riki, who took the last of her palm-sized rock to smash a crawling Knight in the back of his head. He went limp again, flat on his stomach. Riki stole his gun, but also figured it was smart to shuffle around his pants for a knife. When she found it, she looked at it, turning it on all sides.

"Hurry!" cried Audriane, panicking at the continuation of bullets and shouts. She turned around and saw men emerging from the surrounding rocks. She dove at Riki—who dropped the knife—bringing them both down to the ground at the sound of gunfire.

"Use your _guns_!" roared Mireille, shooting one way, Kirika in another.

Without thinking, Riki grabbed Audriane's hand and led her toward the woods in a blind run. Their hearts jolted at every gunshot, thinking it was meant for them—but each gunshot came along with a scream from each man. So they kept running, their adrenaline taking over to the point that they didn't realize they were already in the woods.

They squatted under big leaves and bushes, facing each other, watching each other's sweat trickle and collect under their chins. They stared into each other's eyes for so long, listening to the battlecries and the agonizing deaths, wishing Mireille and Kirika could take care of it all for them, to take it away.

Riki lifted the gun she held. So heavy, almost like a rock. Audriane watched her intensely, waiting for her to finally use it, despite the memories of the massacre. She wanted to say something, frustrated, but feared they'd be heard, even though it was loud all around them. Listening to the bangs, they just couldn't imagine what an actual war would be like.

Rustles.

Around them.

The students stared at each other, wide-eyed. For about a minute, they absorbed every detail of each other's face, as if it would be their last time looking at each other.

_Crunch_.

Audriane mouthed the words, _Shoot_. She glared at Riki, with horror. They screwed their eyes shut, faces scrunched up anxiously. They squeezed their eyes, their fists, their teeth. All they could hear in that silence, were the screams from the school.

_Not again, not again, not again!_

The snap of a twig.

A dangerous, new power seemed to channel through Riki's gun, up her arm, and into her very soul as she stood and aimed her gun.

But someone else shot first.

It had felt as though Riki's heart had been blown out of her chest so fast that she didn't have time to react. She felt cold, staring at the death hole in her face. She was paralyzed. Waiting for her heartbeat. Where was it?

"You would've been dead." It was Mireille, her gun at Riki, point-blank, eyes strict, as if waiting for a reaction.

Sweat beaded across Riki's brow. Cold sweat, but not as cold as Mireille's expression.

It was as if time froze. Audriane remained crouched, staring in disbelief, Riki and Mireille a foot apart with their guns aimed at each other. It was when Kirika walked along and put her hand on Mireille's gun, lowering it, that the world seemed to come back to life. They finally heard the ferns buzz with insects, and the birds, and the tinkling of the streams.

Kirika glared at Mireille, who remained transfixed on Riki.

"_Why _shoot?" shouted Audriane. "We came back to _help_!"

Mireille held the gun parallel to her own face. "Is that why you're here cowering in the brush?"

"And stay in the open and _die_?"

"Mireille," said Kirika sternly—the only one who Audriane noticed could knock some sense into the blonde.

"Where did you go?" blurted Mireille. "A simple drink with my breakfast would've been nice—."

"SOME DAMN PROTECTION!" Riki had finally found her voice as she felt the pounding in her ears lessen. "Asher promises us protection and we all nearly get killed—YOU promise us protection, and you decide to shoot at _me_?"

Mireille pressed the gun right into Riki's chest. _"Yes,"_ she snarled. "I think I _will_ shoot at you. I thought you'd get used to it by now after everything you've been through."

"Who gets used to _this_?" roared Riki, stamping the ground with one foot, fists flailing wildly as if holding back from punching Mireille. "What child gets used to THIS?"

Mireille pressed the gun harder against Riki, making the girl step back. Even though Riki knew she wouldn't shoot, the weight of that gun filled her chest with a cold rush. It was different from the power she felt seconds ago holding her own gun. She began to shake violently, remembering the massacre.

Audriane shrieked, "Stop that!"

Kirika snapped, "Mireille, that's enough—."

"Get. Used. To. It," growled Mireille through gritted teeth. "People want to kill you. So we'll train you on how to react to _that_. You'll know how to disarm the enemy, even if they have you at point blank. Next time, you _will_ use that gun."

No one looked at each other, each anchored to where she stood, to her own despair. A noose seemed to tighten itself around their hearts. Riki felt every fiber boil with rage as she glared at Mireille. Never had she felt so scared and angry altogether—that anger could make her _this_ mentally exhausted, and unstable, that she felt like she would black out any moment.

After what felt like a lifetime, Kirika declared, "We have to get rid of the bodies."

Audriane gawked at her. "How you just say that?"

The silence was unbearable, until they heard something. Kirika turned and aimed her gun at a skinny tree.

A woman stood there.


	8. Chapter 8: Trials

Chapter 8

Trials

"Sharp," congratulated the newcomer. Her beady eyes—so big in her sockets, they were nearly fully black—locked on the students. "Very sharp. However, it appears that those skills have not been passed on. The candidates need better training. Araki nearly died. A failure on your end, and in doing so, probable replacement of a new Noir—."

"Threatening _us_—who the hell do you think you are?" growled Mireille, gun trained on her.

The Soldat dipped her head. "Shirihime." She looked at the children. "If you can't protect them, you fail. And if they die, that proves they are no longer worthy . . . of inheriting the title of Noir. So train them."

"I'm done with crazy bitches." Mireille was about to pull the trigger, but a different gunshot went off. She glared at Riki, only to find the gesture returned.

Riki's gun was set on her. There were hot tears in her eyes, as she seemed to vibrate with anger.

"Fire at HER, not me!" snapped Mireille.

"We're even, now," spat Riki, stepping closer. "But _we're_ not stupid! This damn woman just said that if we failed, _you_ fail. You dragged us into this hellhole to save your own asses?"

There was a click. Riki expected it to be Kirika aiming her gun at Shirihime, as logic would have it, but instead, Kirika was aiming at her.

"If you hurt Mireille . . ." began Kirika, face serious for the first time—almost to the edge of menacing, making her unfamiliar.

Despite the death threat, Riki felt pretty confident. After all, _she_ was ordering Mireille around. She was finally in control over _something_ in her life, for once, again. She tightened her finger around the trigger.

"I'll shoot," said Riki, as boldly as she could.

Kirika challenged her with a venomous glare. It was unsettling, yet sad, even pleading. Riki found herself questioning her actions, but remembered that even now, they couldn't trust Mireille or Kirika or this "Shirihime".

"I'll shoot!" shouted Riki. "It's not like you two cared about our survival—it's always been about _you_!"

Everyone kept their eyes on each other. Never before had silence seemed to have its own sound, like a drone of bees. Every crunch of their feet shifting on the soil, every rustle of animals in the woods surrounding them, was like an explosion compared to the haze of quiet. Each of them could feel the other's anger, seeping across their skin like poison ivy.

Above all, Mireille didn't know why Riki wasn't focused on the real enemy.

Kirika lowered her gun, then turned it on Audriane.

"Riki!" whispered Audriane, eyes wide.

"_I'll_ shoot," said Kirika, eyes clashing with Riki's.

Audriane's voice cracked. "Remember, Riki, they saved us!"

"They were supposed to protect us, but they were never doing that!" said Riki. She suddenly realized that there was much more to Noir than she thought. She needed to figure out who to trust, which Soldats to trust, how many Soldats there were, how many factions . . . It was a painful amount of questions in her head that she thought she'd burst.

"What good will it do," began Mireille, "killing me and Kirika? _Hm_?"

Riki switched her attention to the mysterious woman in a white button-down blouse, knee-length skirt, and droopy ankle-high boots. She was the only one without a gun pointed at her. It irked Riki, but she felt the urge to lay down some rules with Mireille and Kirika, had the _need_ to shoot Mireille.

But when Kirika stepped closer to Audriane, pressing the gun against her temple, Riki's heart thundered in her chest; it cracked, like a mirror reflecting what Riki was about to do.

"I don't want to," croaked Kirika, "but I don't want to lose Mireille, either. If she dies today, so will you. But first, her." She looked at Audriane. "Please. I don't want to do this. And I doubt you do too—to Audriane. You don't know what it's like to kill an innocent—."

"What does it matter, whose blood?" blurted Shirihime, folding her arms. She shrugged. "Just now, moments ago during that battle, you learned one thing and one thing only, the one and simple rule: kill or be killed."

In an incomprehensive blur, Rik's gun had been removed. It was as if she _gave_ it to Kirika, who had slid right into her face, blinding her from the fact that she had disarmed her. Riki felt a total loss of balance, even though she was only pushed back two steps.

There was a gunshot.

Shirihime cried out with an "Achk!" She stood there, knees buckled, clutching her forearm where Kirika shot her. A blackish-red spot grew on her sleeve. Her breath shook as she tried to wince through the split of pain.

"You . . . shot me!" she gasped.

"Good job—you recognize pain," said Mireille, with a cheery grin. Next to her, Kirika now held two guns, her own and the one she snatched from Riki.

Mireille folded her arms like royalty ordering her lion to attack a rude guest. She exchanged a smirk with Kirika, who approached Shirihime with both guns aimed.

"If there's one thing you Soldats were good at teaching," said Mireille, "it was knowing when to shoot."

Shirihime threw up her hands in immediate defeat, startling Kirika in her tracks. Experience told them that such nonchalance was never a good sign. Both assassins leaned forward, ready to react. Behind them, the children watched cautiously with readied stances.

"I'd save your thirst for revenge against the real enemy," said Shirihime.

Mireille gave it a thought. "Hm. Ok." She fired again, making Shirihime flinch; the blast startled big ferns right behind her. This toying around sparked an impatient flare inside Riki, who wished Mireille just _shoot_ the woman.

"There's plenty to go a-round," said Mireille. "Get it? A. _Round_. A round of bullets?"

Shirihime's tone remained serious. "Glad to know you're thrilled, as am I to inform you that you have passed yet another Trial."

There was a churning, a knife-like twist in Riki's gut. No training camp? None of Asher's bodyguards lending drills or safety tips? No tips on survival from Shirihime? No meeting Asher before their "trials" began?

Instead, _this_ mad _fox hunt? _

"THAT was a bloody trial? You—_Asher_—sent those men?" exploded Riki.

Shirihime stood up taller, as if to rub in Mireille's face that her gunshot did nothing to falter her. She still held her arm, though.

"Everything that happens around the Etxarren are nothing _but_ tests," said Shirihime. "You should have figured that out by now. The other factions don't know your location, otherwise, you would have been really dead. Hope that they don't."

For a dull moment, everything that has ever been said or done to her had been a familiar numbness to Riki. Ever since the school massacre, the oddest and the darkest wouldn't take her by surprise anymore—hell, the "first Trial" must have been surviving the massacre itself!

But fire howled inside her, eating away at her insides that it almost hurt. "AFTER WE JUST GOT HERE?"

Riki became a blur of something else, something inhuman. In that splitting moment, Noir thought Riki was going to attack them—but instead she rammed herself into Shirihime. However, the Soldat had invited the assault. Her arms lashed out, almost tossing Riki aside as if whipping a towel against the air to clear it of dust. The poor freshman became an awkward jumble of arms and legs. She didn't disappear into the brush but rather wiped it out flat with her body, like a giant crushing a city.

In those seconds of confrontation, Audriane glared at Noir—at _Kirika_. She had seen her move to intervene, but instead, waver. It was right there she decided to hate Kirika as much as she hated Mireille, maybe even more. And yet, Audriane's anguish turned to plea as she glanced from Shirihime towering over Riki to the two women who _did_ save them from the school massacre.

Trying to find her bearings in the dirt, Riki had rearranged her body to a crouching position. But Shirihime was standing over her already, deadly close. She grabbed Riki by the forearm; an awful pinch flared in Riki's shoulder socket. The Soldat forced her to stand up, only for Riki to dangle in the attempt to resist.

"HELP HER!" screeched Audriane, the sound chafing her throat raw and dry.

Mireille and Kirika had their guns set on the fight, but nothing more.

Riki heard that terrible click she still needed to get used to. A gun. She closed her eyes.

Then there was a jolt, and the world slapped Riki in the face as she tasted dirt. Something brushed the back of her head, hard, as she tried to regain focus. She heard the grunts and papery shuffles in the vegetation. Rolling onto her back, then sitting up, Riki squinted up through the pain. All she saw was Audriane charging right into Shirihime's gun.

Everyone had expected a gunshot. Instead, they watched in disbelief as Audriane was forcing Shirihime's gun skyward with both her hands. Both of their hands trembled at the equal force. When the gun went off, it startled Audriane, losing the deadlock, allowing Shirihime to free a hand and elbow Audriane in the face.

"Adrenaline won't save you forever!" declared Shirihime.

Nonetheless, Audriane lunged forward with a hand-toss of dirt. With Shirihime blinded, Audriane tried to grab her gun, but almost missed, feeling it slip from her fingers, making her heart skip a beat—but when she grabbed it just in time, she mustered all her strength to thwart its fire elsewhere just as Shirihime pulled the trigger.

There was the sound of chickens crying out in the distance.

"There goes our morning eggs," said Mireille.

Realizing how close she was to the enemy, Audriane stood there, gripped with horror, as Shirihime placed her gun into Audriane's chest, and pushed, and pushed, and pushed—at the same time, kicked her in the chest. The student tripped backwards, gasping, feeling her body buzz with adrenaline.

"Audriane Adrenaline," taunted Shirihime, towering over her, pressing the gun into her chest. "Heh. Catchy. I like that. Audriane Adrenaline." She paused, reveling in the terror in Audriane's eyes. "Amazing. Good to know you still fight to live—."

BANG!

_"Really?"_ hissed Shirihime, stepping back, aiming her gun at Noir.

Both Mireille and Kirika had their guns aimed, but it was Kirika who fired.

"What? You didn't forget we were here, right?" pouted Mireille, pretending she had been insulted.

Riki and Audriane glared. Why didn't Noir do that _sooner_—?

"The only reason why we haven't killed you yet," began Mireille.

"Is because we want to know why you're here," finished Kirika.

"To assess Noir, why else," said Shirihime casually.

_Which one?_ wondered Mireille. But she brushed it off, tightening her finger around the trigger. "Well, if I recall correctly, Asher assigned _us_ to train them. Not you. Don't be vacuuming up all my money." She clenched her teeth. "Now _leave_."

Mireille paused, drawn into Shirihime's black eyes. She didn't know why, but she felt like they'd met before. If not that, a sense of familiarity. Whatever the case, it wasn't the good kind. It was eerie.

"What do you know about the Third Sapling?" blurted Mireille. "Sir Asher has kindly not mentioned from our last discussion." Glare. "You aren't . . . the Third Sapling, are you?"

Shirihime stepped back, hands raised in surrender, face smug. She lowered her gun and walked away.

"Where you going!" threatened Mireille, gun trailing the woman's every movement. "Answer me!"

She didn't know why but she couldn't shoot. She _wanted_ to so badly. Soldats . . . you could never kill them, because they had the answers. It has always been like that for as long as Noir could remember.

Now that she thought about it, Mireille hasn't seen any of Asher's so-called "bodyguards". Who knew how far their boundaries were beyond Etxarren, how many men he had guarding them—or how many men were guarding them for the sole purpose of imprisoning them? _Using_ them? Mireille's only guess was that those now-dead men _were_ their "personal bodyguards". She sometimes wondered if Soldat pawns knew what they were getting themselves into.

"Like I said," said Shirihime, "I'd save the hatred for the enemy."

Mireille and Kirika looked at each other: if it wasn't Shirihime, then, that other faction who sent their men to the school?

No one said anything as Shirihime headed past Etxarren toward the lake. She held her injured arm, but it didn't seem to bother her.

"We should follow her, see where she came from!" said Riki.

"Chasing her would just lead us to more trouble," said Mireille—just as two men from the forest joined Shirihime. "We need to recuperate, and you need to train."


	9. Chapter 9: Thorns of a Rose

Chapter 9

Thorns of a Rose

"_Again,"_ repeated Mireille.

Riki and Audriane splashed out of the lake. On Kirika's nod, they raced each other toward the edge of the square-shaped boulder, sprung, tucked, and loosened into nose-dives. Their attempts weren't as painful—last time, they'd smacked their backs against the water or landed head-first after hesitating mid-air. Not professional, but familiar child's play into a pool on a sunny day with friends.

The trainees surfaced, smearing water from their faces. Kirika looked to Mireille, who peered back behind her sunglasses.

"Well?" hollered Riki from the water.

Without a care, Mireille glanced back down at her book, so Kirika spoke for her. "Not bad," she said, voice straining to sound appraising. "But we need to perfect a single front-flip, then handsprings."

Kirika watched the students shivering in the icy water. It was amazing how literally crystal-clear the water was—how actually _blue_ it was—that she could see the girls' lower halves perfectly, and the rich detail of the rocks at the bottom.

Audriane stuttered through a mouthful of water: "This too hard! We missing something! Basics? Fighting and _shooting_!"

Kirika looked back at Mireille. "She's sort of right. Unless they were like us, where we learned everything from an early age, they don't understand how their bodies work."

Now that it was brought up, it never occurred to Kirika how second-nature her agility was. Pure human instincts, taught to her, whenever that was; supposedly when she was young enough at an age for the Soldats to influence. On top of that, she never needed to _teach_ anyone how she moved. How do you even begin to explain that? It only seemed to confuse Kirika just _thinking_ about how to _describe_ the moves she was used to.

As for her partner Mireille, who wasn't the most agile assassin . . . at least she could take care of herself for the most part. She was familiar with danger, and had her own casual ways on how to research or prepare ahead of time. So, for Kirika to teach inexperienced children, was her own inexperience. Like teaching infants how to walk and roll all over again.

"Huh, guess you're not the only ones learning," said Mireille, placing her thumb between the pages of her book. She too struggled to figure out how to instruct what she knew instinctively, especially to kids. "Anyway, leave the frilly tricks to Kirika. _I'll_ instruct the basic firearms. Now. Kirika. How 'bout you make some snacks for us? We'll move on to target practice and return to stunts tomorrow."

Without argument, Kirika grabbed a towel and strolled inside the battered up Etxarren. Audriane hurried after her to change too, swatting away mosquitoes that glinted in the dimming day, like golden snow.

With Riki and Mireille left alone, there was nothing but to do but Mireille watching Riki furiously claw away clouds of mosquitos.

"Little pieces of shit," began Riki—yelping, at a gunshot; Mireille's bullet sliced through the cloud of bugs.

Sickened by her own fascination of the woman's prowess, Riki remembered the hell she was in.

On Mireille's end, she was getting fed up feeling like someone wanted to kill her in her sleep, so she returned to her book with her nose in its pages.

"So," began Riki. "When were you going to explain what a 'Third Sapling' is? It's been two days since Shady left. That was the last thing you two mentioned."

Two days since they had to burn the bodies of the men they killed. Almost just as appalling as the bodies from the massacre. At least to Riki and Audriane.

Mireille said nothing.

Riki glared at her. "Don't you damn forget that we're _still_ here. If we had run off, you two would've been done-for."

Mireille growled, "Don't forget that you'd be dead _now_, because I'm the one holding the gun, and I'm the one who can easily kill you."

"You wish. Sounds like _you_ need us more than we need you."

Mireille did whatever it took to not kill the girl on the spot. "We _all_ die either way, one day or another."

Riki intended to have the last word. "Tell me what a Third Sapling is, and maybe we'll keep 'fighting' for you. For all of us."

"Trust me," said Mireille, "when it comes to the Soldats, you have no choice—except on how you die: run away, or _fight_ through it? Sleep on it."

…..

Later in the day, Mireille led them off the same trail they had used to escape. She introduced them to a clearing where there was a garden. Tomatoes and grapes grew along skinny stakes in rows of mulch.

There was a large box-like well that collected rain, murky and nearly dark as non-sugared coffee. Mireille set up pyramids of empty cans on its cement edges. She positioned the girls several yards away and handed them guns.

After five minutes of failure, Mireille said, "Just. Stop." She grabbed Audriane's hand and guided her aim as Audriane pulled the trigger multiple times. Her bullets kicked off a few cans, after which Riki went over to stack them repeatedly.

For now, all Mireille said was, "Shooting someone isn't too hard. As long as you point a gun at them, the chances of you of at least immobilizing them are promising."

A majority of their day was concerned with shooting, mostly at close-range, then getting comfortable backing away farther and farther until Audriane was a reasonable ten meter away from target. The kick of the gun, however, slipped it from Audriane's grasp, constantly butting her in the shoulder or face.

"That's an error you can't afford, dropping your weapon just because of its kick," said Mireille, reloading Audriane's gun for her. "Get used to it. Relax your breathing when firing, but don't relax that grip. You only have one shot, one chance in life. Be swift and strong—it looks easy, how fast Kirika shoots, but it takes a lot of arm muscle and speed and accuracy. Keep it up. I'm going to train twerp separately."

"If you're going to insult me, at least switch back to French," said Riki.

Mireille gestured Riki over. "While Dupont practices her shooting, I'm going to test your upper body strength separately."

"Uh, I'd like to learn how to shoot to defend myself, too!" said Riki.

"After seeing what you've endured, I _know_ you can shoot a gun." Mireille's eyes hardened—it was like watching a sword meld into strong steel. "It's Dupont who doesn't have guts. She needs to get used to the idea. You, on the other hand, have the potential to be strong. I just want to see how strong you are now—."

"I've got abs—!"

Mireille reached out and shoved Riki, making her keel off one foot. "If you can get swayed that easily, you lose your ground and give opportunities to the enemy. Thus, you die."

"No shit," grumbled Riki.

Mireille shoved Riki again. Harder. This time Riki was lurched sideways, but stumbled to catch herself, her back facing Mireille. "The hell!" she roared.

"But also learning to take a hit is important," said Mireille. "Sometimes it's the best thing that could ever happen to you—it gives you an escape. Or—." With Riki's back still facing her, Mireille grabbed her by the scruff of her shirt, ramming her into a tree. "—You could turn that momentum against your _enemy_, into a new move, a new opportunity. Now _roll_!"

Riki only slammed into the tree, slightly bouncing off to the side. "Goddammit, mind telling me what to do before you pancake me?"

"I can only tell you things here and there," said Mireille, backing away. "But you've got to learn how to react to different, unpredictable situations. Your only teacher is yourself; don't rely on us to be around all the time." Mireille gestured to the tree. "When I threw you against the tree, you could have used that momentum to roll around the tree, thus _spreading_ the impact your body would have taken if you hadn't rolled. Understand?"

"You can't just throw me around like a rag!" roared Riki. "There are ways to train safely, ya know!"

The Corsican stared at Riki as if seeing her for the first time. For once, she felt something for the girl: empathy. Right then and there, Mireille allowed herself to feel it. Let it warm her heart, ache it. Motivate her. Then, she crushed it like a bug. She let indifference disease the last of her humanity—because what these girls needed wasn't love, but hatred. It was all that would save them from their own sensitivity, their own vulnerability, their own pain. It would keep them going, drive them to survive.

_Only hatred can save . . ._

_"HOLA?"_ barked Riki.

Mireille's expression stoned again when she locked eyes with Riki, who looked like she was ready to pounce her. Before any further protests, Mireille stepped forward and scooped up Riki right upside-down.

_"Hey!"_ howled Riki, legs kicking against Mireille's shoulder and the side of her face. Mireille's arms wrapped around Riki's hips, gripping around her calves, cheek hugging against Riki's thighs, as she hoisted her higher.

"I want to see your handstand," grunted Mireille, swaying on her own feet until Riki complied and placed her hands flat on the ground. "I'm gonna let go, now. Ready? And—now!"

For a moment, Riki was upside-down, arms straight, legs awkwardly bent but nonetheless up in the air. However, after taking two steps on her hands, her body seemed to turn to rubber as she timbered over slowly but powerfully. It looked like she was going to land, at the least, flat on her back, which would still hurt but be better than nothing. But then she panicked, automatically bending her elbows too fast, and squeezing her eyes shut for the worst, not realizing she bent her head awkwardly. This sent her whole body crumbling down on her head, squishing her against the ground flat. Riki sprawled out into an awkward heap of limbs.

Whatever warmth Mireille would have felt had vanished those moments ago when she promised herself she'd do whatever it took to harden these girls.

"Well that sucked," said Mireille.

"Hell with you," grunted Riki, stiff on the ground.

"Did you do any sports?"

Grunt. "Soccer."

"Lift weights?"

"We started to when I made varsity team."

"Then why the hell are your handstands that bad?" All of this, Mireille said with the light-feathered tone of a well-mannered duchess, sugarcoated with mock and sarcasm.

"Because I did _soccer_, not gymnastics!" roared Riki.

Audriane, who had stopped firing to watch, looked over her shoulders at Mireille. "Keep fire?"

Mireille nodded, switching to French for Audriane. "Yes. But we should also work on your English _and_ Japanese."

Audriane fell silent, as if her scholar credibility had been butchered. Mireille switched back to Japanese for both of them.

Mireille added, "Keep at it. I have a lot to fix with this runt."

Irritation tingled along Riki's skin, like ticks. "Don't treat me like—."

"A _child,"_ said Mireille. She pointed at the same tree. "Handstand, now."

Riki regarded the tree as if it had malicious intent. "Shouldn't I watch Dupont? Ya know, in order to learn?"

"You can't just expect to watch and learn how to shoot until you do it yourself."

"Maybe I'm special."

"Oh I believe you—."

"Mireille!"

Walking out into the clearing, joining them with a bucket of spring water, was Kirika. With a loud _khlu-thunk_, she settled it onto the ground, then looked at them questioningly. "What were you just doing?"

"Being intimate," said Riki, feigning a sultry voice as she leaned on Mireille's shoulder, hand on her hip.

Mireille shrugged her off and composed herself. "I wanted to see where her strength lies," she told Kirika. "If there was any at all."

"She should have just gone into it like a cartwheel," said Kirika. "Not with you dropping her."

"_Yeah_, seriously, where does a handstand go in all the gunfire?" retorted Riki in agreement. "We need to learn to the _basics_ of the basics."

"Stop sounding like you know what you're talking about," said Mireille.

"Riki's right, though," said Kirika, exhaling. "We need to take a step back. Starting with forward rolls. Then backrolls. Then diverolls. Then handstands. And in time, handsprings. Flips. In between that, firing a gun."

"Dupont's already doing that," said Mireille, nodding toward Audriane, who had stopped firing to watch the three talk.

"She's done enough, I think," said Kirika. "I want them both to learn stunts at the same time, though. Don't exhaust them, Mireille. Time is of the essence, yes, but we cannot afford to injure them so early in the game. Tomorrow we do stunts, like you said."

"Yeah, like you said," said Riki, folding her arms. "Live what you preach, right?"

Mireille stiffened and closed her eyes, as if hoping to contain her murderous urge to throttle the teenager. It irritated her that Kirika was stepping up in this particular moment, and yet at the same time it impressed her. Over the course of a year or so since Le Grande Retour, her friend became more confident, her opinions stronger and more voiced. It almost made her powerful, in ways that reminded Mireille who she partnered with. After everything they've been through, Mireille knew to trust Kirika. Even though she still made most decisions, she began to respect Kirika in a whole new light.

And Audriane saw that and wondered what it felt like to survive, and thrive, in a dark world with a partner you could fully trust. She looked at Riki, wondering with shameful disgust if this was what they would look like together.

_Eventually,_ she thought, almost solemnly, and yet, with hope.

…..

"How was greeting the buds?" asked Asher.

Shirihime held her arm as if to hide it even though she had their doctor wrap it up under her new blouse. Wincing, it took every fiber of her to gather her nobility.

"The buds bloom weakly," she said. "I fear they nurse in inadequate water. The roots of the First Sapling are unstable, for she is a _rose_ with a prickly attitude that could lead to her own demise . . . just like the Daughter of Corsica."

Asher chuckled. "Didn't I teach you to not play with thorns?"

"Yes," she admitted, brow cramping from scowling.

"They didn't kill you, though—."

"Because they know I'm the only answer to their questions."

Asher smiled fondly. "I admire your confidence, how much you've grown and improved. But it's not a question of why they spared you. There's a lot to understand here, to learn. That's why the seeds need to be scattered. We cannot further encourage the wrong kind of breed, which is why we train them under a close eye, in the Etxarren."

"So you insist to press on in their training . . . or find new candidates?"

"Not the latter; we stick to our current theory. This is the only way to figure out our question, through them, through their bond, through these children. Altena made the mistake of raising Yumura and the Daughter of Corsica separately, unable to predict their responses—she _acted_ like she knew what she was doing, even to the grave end. But she was wrong. Yumura and Bouquet came from different soils, different backgrounds, lifestyles, even though their beginnings were more tied than they thought. With Dupont and Araki, we can control that. True, they weren't childhood friends, but, both being normal kids . . . but they'll be a better team than the previous—a better Noir."

"How does their high school career make them better?"

"That's the _fun_ of the question."

Shirihime was incredulous. "Speaking of school . . . whoever sent those men, I hear they sent someone here. According to our source."

"How far away are they from approaching Etxarren?"

"They haven't made any more steps. I think they're waiting."

"It appears they are watching us. Taunting us. We shall utilize Noir against them. Be sure to include that in their training." Asher's face grew serious. "It is time to 'ward the darkness from the nursing babes'."

…

"I think you need to spot her right here," said Mireille to Kirika, putting her hands on Riki's hips. "One thumb pointing down as you grip here. The other thumb pointing up . . .?"

"You sound confident," grunted Riki. "I trust my life in your hands."

Off to the side, Audriane snickered. She closed her mouth when Mireille looked over acting like she didn't want to reveal her frustration, but the freshmen could sense her annoyance.

"I feel like that's something you'd do for younger children," said Kirika, eying Riki's hands and feet that were planted straight on the ground. "These two are too heavy for that kind of grip. At this age, they already know how to roll. They'll offer enough momentum, so our grip should look like this instead—we just guide them—."

"But they _don't_ know about their momentum," retorted Mireille. "Hence, why we're doing this in the first place."

Despite being stuck in her position, Riki snorted.

"Roll," ordered Kirika.

As they have practiced, Riki did as commanded. The two assassins watched closely, agreeing that she still needed to tuck more into her armpit.

"Roll more on your shoulder. You're not straight enough—not till we see a nice trail of dirt going diagonally from your shoulder, down across your back, to your opposite hip," said Kirika.

Mireille eyed her partner playfully. "That makes sense."

Kirika nodded. "Now let's try standing to the side behind her when she rolls?"

Mireille stepped back so Kirika could spot Riki's forward roll. When executed, Kirika sort of had to scramble along to keep up with Riki's roll.

With the cluck of her tongue, Mireille pointed, and said, "Try spotting _by_ the side. If we stand sort of in front of her, we block her way. Behind her, we're chasing after her instead of guiding her. By her side, maybe."

"And you say we're the ones that need to learn coordination and cognition," said Riki, standing up to wipe her clothes of dirt and grass.

"Guess so," said Kirika with a weak smile.

"You try spotting. Not as logical as it seems," challenged Mireille. "In fact, spot me."

"You're fat, you might crush me," said Riki.

The blonde scowled and folded her arms, luring Riki into an uncomfortable stare. The humid air seemed worse, growing thicker and pricklier. Everyone watched the two, Mireille with the lecturing expression of a mother, Riki with the escalating pout of an eight-year-old.

When they thought more banter would pursue, Mireille only sighed and pointed at the ground. "Just spot," she said softly. Her voice was caked with enough authority for Riki to obey without finding an excuse to challenge her. Riki stood by Kirika as the assassin did a roll.

"The point of this is, if you know how to _spot_ a simple forward roll, you learn how to _do_ it from a different angle," said Kirika, standing up. "It also helps me figure out how to explain it better. And it's about safety, and trust."

They continued with Riki spotting Audriane, then their mentors. It seemed redundant and silly, but everyone gradually understood what they were looking for the more they watched each other, the more they _felt_ it through each other's momentum as they spotted each other. Less and less did Riki attempt insult to Mireille, too focused on perfecting the forward roll. She was determined to be able to move on to backward rolls by the next day, according to Kirika. She was determined to learn, to survive—to live.

10


	10. Chapter 10: Ready Enough

Chapter 10

Ready Enough

Mireille stepped back to judge the teenagers' handstands. The freshmen have been at it, including backward rolls, since the previous day when training started, challenging each other to who could be the first to handstand without using a wall or tree for support. They started from handstands for three seconds, to five seconds, then to fifteen at the most. At this point it was the best they could do. With everything that's happened—barely arriving in the Cantabrians, the change of time zones, and "Trials"—too much would already be overwhelming.

"Let's limit handstands to fifteen seconds," said Kirika. "Your body has yet to get used to this intense training . . ."

The younger girls' faces strained red at the effort to maintain control and not keel over.

"Straight arms," demanded Mireille quickly before they could topple over. "Land on your feet—."

They kept their arms straight, but that didn't change the fact that they had yet to improve on their landing; they nearly slammed on their backs. It took a lot of muscle control and strength. Riki and Audriane crashed onto their backs, laying there, wincing.

Mireille stared at them, holding her chin in thought. Then, she said, "Kirika, handstand." When her partner did as asked, Mireille pushed her over. On instinct, Kirika tucked her chin and rolled. "Just like that. It's important to recover from a handstand—with a simple roll. Look at your stomachs, bend those elbows, and roll with legs tucked to your chest."

"A _moment_, Barbie," huffed Riki, wincing, whistling through her teeth.

"Still. We're missing something, some transition from handstand to . . . pain angels," said Mireille dryly.

"So sore," groaned Audriane.

"Because you aren't used to this constant activity," said Mireille. "Stretch more."

"I _strive_ for the Olympics," said Riki with a sarcastic salute.

"Get some water before the midday heat gets to you."

At the sound of break, the girls began walking away almost immediately. "Finally, water," said Audriane.

"While you're at it, grab that bucket, and head to the spring," said Mireille after them.

Riki and Audriane drooped in despair and glared at Noir, but wheeled around without further protest.

Mireille shook her head. "We're getting nowhere. Not fast enough."

Kirika watched the children disappear into the woods. "There are three things they need to learn to survive: how to shoot, how to get back up from a blow, and how to run. Their gasping—their endurance—concerns me."

"Experience. That's all it really narrows down to," said Mireille, as if with realization. "In this world, you're never ready. Only ready enough. I hate to say this, and I really, really _hate_ that damn woman—but I guess we gotta talk to Shirihime about it."

….

"I really, really HATE that being thirsty means walking a mile to get to our water!" grunted Riki, swinging the bucket between herself and Audriane, who gripped the other side of the thin handle. "No offense to the homeless, but at least hobos sleep safely on the streets where no one cares about them—but us, we had to be blessed by _GOD_ Himself to hide in the forest like Mowgli!"

Getting caught in her rant caused Riki to trip and stagger, burdening Audriane with the bucket. After useless bickering, they continued to limp back toward the Etxarren.

"We _have_ water. We have lake. They just messing with us," said Audriane distractedly, refraining from throttling her partner.

She scanned the stretch of trees above. It was amazing how thick, and then how suddenly vast and open the mountains could be.

It didn't take long, however, for Riki's complaints to get annoying. Audriane had wanted to agree with her, but couldn't help but glare from the corner of her eye, insulted that her classmate didn't realize where she stood in their training, how lucky she was progressing. Audriane, on the other hand, in Mireille's words, had to "get used to things". Initially, it was ironic. If anything—watching Riki complain, watching her back-talk, watching her nearly shoot Mireille—it was _Riki_ who needed to get used to things. Audriane was at least _trying_ to improve, while Riki was too focused on sass, and it wasn't bringing them anywhere.

Their new life was hell . . . and yet, at least Riki had something to keep her going: a strength that Mireille recognized, a compliment that Riki should have graciously noticed by now. And what did Audriane have? She was bilingual and studious. But would _that_ save her life?

Riki's current temper tantrum pulled Audriane back to their new world. With a sudden burst of envy, Audriane pulled the bucket from Riki's hands and heaved it onto her head with great strain to balance it. She marched forward, ignoring Riki's cries from behind: "Hey, you're gonna spill that!"

"Pull your weight," snapped Audriane.

Riki fell quiet. "Hey, you ok?"

After all that Audriane wanted to force out brutal words, but they surprisingly came out soft. "Of course not."

Riki said nothing. All that training has barely given them anything to bond over, other than competitive handstands and spotting rolls. She still didn't know how to communicate with her so-called partner.

Raising her hands defensively, Riki fell back a few steps to let Audriane march ahead. This only made something snap inside Audriane, but she still said nothing. It stayed like this all the way till they spotted Mireille and Kirika by the pond. The sight of their mentors dipping their feet in the water like royalty only worsened their mood.

"Someone should slave _your_ asses," said Riki, as Audriane dropped the bucket to the ground.

Mireille looked up. "Bring it inside to the kitchen."

Riki moved to take the bucket this time, but Audriane beat her to it without a word. As she slipped inside the Etxarren, Noir looked at Riki standing there, arms crossed.

"You need to think about your weaknesses," blurted Mireille. "Boost your stamina and strategy, but reduce your attitude."

Riki pointed at Audriane inside, eyes wide. "Coach _her_ on attitude, not me!"

The moment Audriane returned, Mireille added without explanation, "And _you_, on your gun accuracy and physical strength."

"Huh?" said Audriane.

"Let's go," said Mireille. "Enough physical stuff. Now it's time to end the day with some leisure target practice. You're gonna keep rotating after every three rounds: one shoots, while the other does handstands. Got that?"

Audriane rubbed her arms, strained from carrying that heavy bucket. She regretted not sharing the weight with Riki.

"Carrying that bucket does you some good weight-lifting," said Kirika, as if to comfort the girls, as if to admit that Mireille was being a hard-ass.

"Told you," said Audriane to Riki.

"And the handstands," said Mireille. "Rotating you through target practice _and_ handstands is a great way to simultaneously train you on aiming, coordination, and body-building. Handstands—always a fast, simple way to work on every muscle in your body. Your gun will suddenly feel lighter, and your accuracy will speed up."

Riki chuckled, hands on her hips. "At least you _finally_ sound like you know what you're doing."

"Eventually you won't need a wall for support on your handstands," said Kirika.

"We start balancing away from wall," said Audriane. She was intent on moving on from doing handstands. After all, handstands wouldn't keep them alive. Whatever kept them focused on _something_ else, though.

…..

Instead of just rolling out of a handstand, they learned how to cartwheel out of it, too. Aside from that, every evening Mireille taught them how to garden. When they had first arrived, that garden half a mile away off the dirt path showed strange signs of daily care. Even Noir didn't know what to say about it, their best guess that Sir Asher had someone prepare the Etxarren for their arrival. Since then, Mireille—from what she could recall growing up in Corsica and from an uncle who taught her everything—attempted to teach them a thing or two about making their own veggies, juice, and wine.

It was one of few chances for Riki and Audriane to exchange little conversation. Every day of training exhausted them to the point that bed time was earlier than their times in Tokyo, so they rarely spoke to each other when getting ready for bed. In their free time, they explored their surroundings far from the Etxarren, sometimes one girl more than the other, and often separately.

As the girls sat on their knees, gardening, poking under leaves, Audriane spoke out of nowhere.

"After a bit," she said, "you grateful for being out here."

Riki paused, looking at her. "Huh?"

"After all that hell, I glad here, far, far away from mankind. Out here, I stronger."

Her Japanese was getting better, Riki noted, but her English . . . maybe more. ' Riki grumbled, "Yeah, for you, it's great."

"I _mean_, it distracting," emphasized Audriane. "It gives me purpose."

"As long as you don't forget who put us in this situation, how many people got killed." Riki's mind dulled at the thought of all the bodies and bloodshed, of friends and strangers . . . so far away, yet always there in their dreams.

Expecting Riki's usual sting, Audriane said nothing. It was topics like these where she allowed Riki to vent. She had every right to.

"Soldats, Asher, Noir, trials," said Riki, throwing down a pile of dirt. "Those two never explained what it all means, not once! The more I think about it, the more it sounds like some recruitment for the frikkin' Mafia."

Audriane couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes. Almost." She frowned thoughtfully. "Why do you never say their names?"

"What, those two?"

_"Exactly."_

"What does it matter? I didn't even realize I never did."

Audriane shrugged, not sure where she was going with it herself. All she could think about was what Kirika—the Basques—said about "that which has a name, exists". It fascinated her, for some reason. But she remained silent, and resumed to pat new mulch around their plants.

"Anyway," continued Riki, raking at weeds, "don't you find it weird that they don't know what they're doing? Ya know, like, training us? And not knowing a simple thing like who prepared the Etxarren for us? They barely know anything about this Asher guy. If anything, it sounds like they're . . ."

"Confused, too," finished Audriane, locking eyes with Riki. "You feel it too, then? You hate to admit it? That they not bad, they victims too—?"

"Hold it there," said Riki. "They may have saved us from the school, and are training us to protect ourselves—but they aren't victims. If they were, they wouldn't be doing this to us. Keeping us here. Preparing us for something worse. Some damn Trials. Our lives are at stake here—so no, I do not consider them victims because they are contributing to these trials. They're enablers."

Riki threw her gardening tools to the ground, scowling Audriane. "And it sickens me that you're going with it, instead of finding a way out here. It's the only reason why you and I are not friends yet. We back each other up, but we aren't friends."

Such cold eyes. From a stranger. And yet it was like a punch to Audriane's heart. They have trained together and survived together, but that was it. Such raw, intense emotions from the lab partner who helped her escape the school . . .

"So why you not gone?" burst Audriane. "Why you still here with me?"

Riki said nothing, her eyes wilting with emotion.

"You feel it too, then? A dark pull? Curiosity?"

"What the hell you talking about?"

"I need to know. I wonder . . . what happened to them . . . what _would_ happen to them if we leave?"

"Should we . . . care?"

Something burned inside Audriane. "You just as bad as them!" To distract herself, her eyes drifted absent-mindedly toward the dirt trail barely visible through the thick trees crowning the garden.

Riki's faced contorted in disgust, but she followed Audriane's gaze, just in time for them both to see someone standing there, watching them. They burst to their feet, adrenaline spiking, not having detected the figure before.

It was Shirihime.

"I _hate_ her," hissed Riki, clenching the handle of her cultivator.

They glared at Shirihime, who turned and walked away. Speechless, the girls shot their attention back toward the Etxarren wondering if there were any signs of Mireille and Kirika waving their guns in the air. No one. They looked back at Shirihime in her stroll.

"Such villainous nonchalance," growled Riki, her skin crawling with the urge to throw her cultivator all the way into the back of Shirihime's head. Every sore muscle remembered what that woman put her through from their last encounter. In ways, she hated Shirihime more than Mireille.

Through the trees separating them from the dirt trail, they detected speckles of movement at the slightest breeze. It was a beautiful day, and yet Shirihime's passing presence seemed to _violate_ this day . . .

"What do we do?" asked Audriane, eyes darting back toward the Etxarren. "Where are Mireille and Kirika? Should we alert them?"

Riki kept looking back where Shirihime disappeared, squinting for any sight of her in case she was lurking nearby. She turned her whole body around in circles for any signs, for any Knights.

"We follow," said Audriane.

Riki didn't have to say anything to agree as she raced after Shirihime; Audriane followed. But as they got closer and closer from behind, they saw her cut through the trees, out into the open. She was heading toward the lake, not Etxarren.

"I not get her," said Audriane.

"Those . . . assholes," whispered Riki, glaring back at the Etxarren.

….

"Didn't you hear her say she'd return to check up on your training?" retorted Mireille, pouring water from a pitcher.

"Don't pour that water so casually!" roared Riki, gesticulating wildly. "I don't like her! The way she looks at us like pawn! The way she tossed me around like dirt!"

"She _is_ Asher's right-hand woman, from what she boastfully claimed," said Mireille. "She relays back to him your progress. Lucky for you, she wasn't here to challenge you. Apparently, she is also responsible for replenishing our ammunition."

The children glared.

"Where do you think your ammo comes from? How else do we train you?" said Mireille, cocking an eyebrow.

Riki froze. "Wait . . . so, they're nearby? Asher. Is he located nearby? I mean, that woman just ambled here and back! We should track her back to where they keep all the ammo, and give them some hellfire!"

Just like that, Riki's fists were curled and raised, as if she was ready for a victorious finale.

"Steady, kid," said Mireille, exhaling. "Don't make it sound so easy. You're untrained children against a powerful force. Don't just assume you're in an action movie."

"Maybe if you told us everything we'd have a better understanding of what we're up against!"

"When the time comes. You're not ready. It's memory overload for you, and honestly, too much for you to handle. Stick to the basics, that's all that matters."

"So you agree with me?" asked Riki, questioning their mentors' expressions, wondering for a second if what Audriane said was true about them. "You agree that we could take down the very people leashing us all, the ones responsible for all those deaths?"

It was the first time Mireille heard Riki acknowledge her and Kirika in that light. She wondered where it came from, how much the children have figured it out. It wasn't that hard to figure out, and yet it was. Then again, it took the students this long to realize that Shirihime delivered their ammo, so who knows what they knew and didn't.

"If they're close enough to deliver in person, then that must mean Asher is somewhere! C'mon, this is basic math even I understand!" said Riki, looking Mireille particularly in the eye.

Mireille composed herself. "If you intend to take him out yourself, that would be great. We'd all be rid of him and the likes of him—but only if you're willing to accept the risks. Do you understand?"

Audriane grimaced at Mireille, then Riki. _She_ was not ready. She wanted to live. She would not leave Etxarren until she was fully trained and fit for combat, for survival.

Mireille waited reluctantly to see if Riki figured out anything else—but Riki said nothing, furthering not just Mireille's curiosity but suspicions.

"Riki," said Audriane, "we not ready."

"Mireille said so herself, that shooting is easy, you just gotta point and pull the trigger," said Riki.

"No, we not ready!"

"We're ready enough, right? Dammit, why do you want to stay here so bad, what's keeping you here!"

Watching them argue, Noir immediately knew they weren't ready. They weren't even sure if the children were partner material—Noir material. Mireille and Kirika shared a silent moment reading each other's eyes, in which Mireille saw a tentative glow in Kirika's eyes. It was gone when they heard Riki stomp upstairs and slam the door. For some reason, it threw everyone off guard. Of all the tantrums she had thrown, this was not usual.

Audriane said to herself, "I stay because I not an idiot." She nodded to their mentors. "I talk to her."

She rushed up the stairs. They heard her click the door to their bedroom behind her.

"Can't tell who's the stronger one in the pair," said Mireille.


	11. Chapter 11: Wild

**Author's Note: **Yuki Kajiura's "Ominous Presence" from El Cazador de La Bruja. watch?v=oK3QcZ6FvQc&amp;index=16&amp;list=PLL2ru9UTjKE4O3zlgtx1vG-3-Lymtk0Nx

Chapter 11

Wild

It was not even more than a minute when Audriane trampled down the stairs frantically.

"She's gone!" she cried.

The older women were cleaning dishes and setting the table. They froze, with wide eyes. Mireille leaned out the kitchen window; Kirika was already rushing outside, Audriane on her heels. But outside, they heard a desperate grunt and a scratchy sound against stone, and looked up.

"Someone help me!" shouted Riki, hanging from the jutting board with the chairs and flowerpots and buckets.

Mireille sighed, turning to Kirika. "Of course she didn't go far."

"I'm gonna fall—!" cried Riki.

"Mireille," began Kirika, nervous.

"We taught her to roll," said Mireille.

"Not how to _land_!" burst Kirika, lunging forward. On instinct, Mireille did the same.

Audriane watched in awe as the duo threw themselves forward, catching Riki. It was a bone-cracking thud and heart-wrenching sound to hear those bodies crumble under the mercy of gravity. She rushed over, feeling as though her heart was caught in her throat.

"Everyone ok?" she shouted, when suddenly a body squirmed and stumbled back onto her feet, pushing Audriane aside. "Riki!"

Riki ran, sometimes rolling her ankle or nearly tripping forward—but she _ran_. Disappeared toward the dirt trail.

"RIKI!" shouted Audriane, aghast.

"Dammit!" roared Mireille, sounding like she was trying to squeeze out the pain. She sat up, clutching her arm. Next to her, Kirika whimpered as she gripped her wrist and felt her head. "Kirika, are you ok?"

"Yeah . . ." said Kirika.

"That bitch!" cursed Mireille, looking where Riki took off.

"Are you ok?" asked Audriane.

"Been through worse, trust me."

"I find her. She is just throwing a fit."

"Let her," growled Mireille, helping Kirika up. "After all, revenge is a dish best served cold. Her dinner can rot."

Audriane watched the two stand up, Kirika on a limp, Mireille with a sagging shoulder as she clutched her arm. They didn't seem concerned about Riki, which calmed her. They looked at each other one more time, such subtle tenderness that she couldn't get out of her head.

Audriane smiled. "You're ok." She turned, running to the dirt path.

….

"You STUPID, you know?" declared Audriane, trotting to catch up with Riki. When she was about to repeat herself, Riki spun around sharply, almost causing them to crash into each other.

"I'M not the stupid one!" yelled Riki—pointing a gun; Audriane froze. "I've kept it under my pillow. Every night. Because I don't trust anyone. Just like our venerable teachers taught us, right?"

The gun remained hooked on Audriane, but she knew Riki wouldn't shoot. Instead of fear, she felt every muscle tighten in fury; in her chest, in her fists, in her face.

Finally, Audriane snarled, "Grow up. No adults to guide us but them. We not survive out by ourselves—!"

"We weren't meant for this! We. Are. _Children_!" bellowed Riki.

"NO ONE CARES!" cried Audriane, smacking the gun out of Riki's hand.

It was the last thing she'd wanted to do or ever expected to happen. The gun went off with a deafening blast; they both flinched, surrendering to the dead quiet of dusk. In their more peaceful moments, they would have appreciated this wild beauty, but here and now they felt the darkness seeping into their hearts, clouding their minds as they glared at each other.

"You're weird," whispered Riki. "There's something messed up with you. You don't understand the opportunity I have given us—me, storming off—they think we're blowing off steam, but _really_, I'M GETTING US OUTTA HERE!"

Audriane felt a chill pass through her. "To _where_?"

"There's a town nearby, I feel it. Where else would Shirihime come from?" Riki gestured toward the path ahead of them that was getting darker and darker. "That's her mistake for coming and going, revealing she was coming from _somewhere_. Sure, there's that monastery, and maybe Asher's place somewhere—but there must be a town nearby! We can find a ride out of here, get a map, call authority, find the closest airport—!"

"In the middle of the _wild_?"

"We're not in ancient times, Dupont! They wanted us to believe we had nowhere to go, but we do! We're in the Cantabrians—if not a local town nearby, then definitely some tourist attraction nearby! Or hikers! We could a hitch a ride with them!"

It sounded crazy to Audriane, but it sounded probable. However, for Riki to expect them to accomplish such an improvised journey with night's approach was ludicrous. The idea of leaving the only protection they had only tugged Audriane backwards, towards the Etxarren, that she turned her head to look behind them—

"Don't look back," said Riki. "Look, we may not be friends, but we're all we've got."

Her words were like a fist clenched around Audriane's heart. She looked at her partner, the only other person there in the world. Her feet stayed planted where she stood. It felt like two strings of her heart pulled forward and backward.

There was a growl. They looked at each other, then Audriane put her hand over her stomach. "You not thought this through," said Audriane. "By now, it is dinner."

"Sorry," apologized Riki with a weak smile, grabbing her own stomach. "But I'm accepting the consequences, the risks. This is our only chance. We can't go back. We gotta take risks if we're to survive."

"But Mireille and Kirika—," stammered Audriane.

"They're _assassins_ hired by the Soldats to train us. They'll be fine. Apparently, always have been before we met them. Now c'mon."

If it weren't for the bluish blackness pressing down upon the land, Audriane would have been positive that her partner was shaking.

…..

The last of the dying light had dimmed behind the mountains, which became dark jagged monsters hunched against the sky. Now all they could rely on was sound, and that was scarier.

Their trek was ruthless. The path they thought they took to the monastery seemed unrecognizable; they didn't know which way to go. They should have known better, at how vast and unpredictable the landscape was. Looking down on the valleys and lakes during the day fooled them into thinking it was a nice hike. The dots of trees scattered throughout the emerald slopes, and the occasional hills lumpy with rocks—how harmless it all appeared. But what looked like scenic strolls up hilltops were excruciatingly long, upward slants. The whisper of shuffling feet and rustling clothes against bushes were the only thing that gave them an idea of how close they were to each other. If it weren't for the faint sound of streams or rivers, they would have stumbled into cold water, or stub their feet into animal holes hiding in the grass while feeling around with their hands or tapping the air in front of them to reassure themselves they weren't floating through endless space. The anticipation to trip, or an abrupt rocky slide, was just as intimidating as lurking enemies. If humanity wouldn't finish them off, the wilderness would.

In defeat, Riki glanced up at the inky sky. _Better Nature do her work, instead of dying by the hands of psychopaths. _

It was balmy out, almost like an enjoyable walk by the ocean. They heard the distant whistle of breezes through the valleys. The drone of nightlife added some comfort.

"I am hungry," repeated Audriane, her voice like a boom in the quiet, startling her friend. She also smacked right into Riki, who rewarded her with cussing. "Riki, I feel weak. No further, please."

"Keep going," whispered Riki. "Which is it, Audriane? A couple of morsels, or our lives?"

They froze in their tracks to allow Riki to sweep the land. Audriane didn't see the point, but she appreciated the break; her feet were anchored with throbbing, pin-needle exhaustion. She too strained her eyes to absorb a possible idea of what was around them.

Thanks to all the stars above, her eyes eventually adjusted. Barely. Instead of an endless abyss, she actually _sensed_ things around her. She recognized the bulging silhouettes of boulders, and grass reaching to the sky like the prickled fur on the back of an alarmed cat. But dark forms took shape, surrounding them, as if waiting to pounce for them.

Audriane craned her neck. "See that monastery yet?" she asked.

"Of _all_ things to worry about?" hissed Riki.

Audriane paused. "Why are you whispering?"

Instead of an answer, she bumped into her classmate in front of her. It was almost the scariest thing she experienced all night—until the sound of movement. Not of the girl in front of her, but the papery shuffle of grass nearby . . .

"What was that?" whispered Audriane.

"I've been hearing it for the past ten minutes, but I wasn't sure if it was just my imagination or animals—."

"You not _tell_ me back then?"

"I didn't wanna freak you out over nothing! It could be animals!"

Audriane could hear the fear in Riki's voice. She whispered, "We need to _move."_

"And lead him to wherever we're heading? What if it's those men in suits, what if he has buddies with him, what if they ambush us? We should stick around and see who it is, take 'em out now—ambush _them_."

"They not bait us if there is already enough people—they would attack back when they first saw the two of us."

All around them, the crickets silenced. Audriane remembered in her childhood using a cricket's sound to track its location, only for the insect to go mute as she drew closer. It was just like that, only right now wasn't fun hide-and-go-seek with a cricket. Silence was a bad thing.

"We not stay here like sitting ducks," said Audriane, "we need to move—."

"Wait, I hear something."

They paused. It sounded like trickling.

In the darkness, something grabbed Audriane's hand. It startled her, but she contained it, as she allowed Riki to guide her for a few minutes.

Suddenly, Audriane felt a dip in the ground. Then her feet were cold and wet.

"Shhh," said Riki. "As slow as you can—."

_Splash!_ Audriane nearly rolled her ankle, but with Riki holding her hand, she managed to keep her balance. Riki raised both their hands in the air, to prevent splashing. They waded through a calm river that went up to their shins. Walking slowly and silently, they tapped their feet along the mud and rocks underwater to feel what was ahead. When they felt the riverbank, they crept up on all fours, feeling around.

There was a soft _splish_ behind them.

Audriane froze and held her breath, automatically grabbing Riki's arm. Her heart was the only thing she heard, making her panic, as if whatever was out there would hear her.

She then felt Riki's hot breath in her ears.

"Crouch. _Slowly_."

She spoke so softly that Audriane almost couldn't hear her. But she knew why. She did as Riki said. Hunched over, they listened, hoping with all their restrain to scream, that it was an animal.

_Splish._

They finally understood the meaning of eternity: the slowest minutes of their lives passed. The willpower to not move a muscle or itch from the constant tickling grass was painful. After the long insanity of walking and crouching blindly in the darkness, they suddenly craved action, to move, to run . . .

More _splishes_.

And then drip, drip, drip—_crunch_.

The sound of the steady, intelligent pace of someone walking on grass.

Fear pushed up and through Audriane's chest. Her body tensed into a pack of taut wires, which she attempted to relax, still careful to control her breathing. Not too loud. The last thing they needed was an unexpected, desperate gasp for oxygen to give them away.

At first the silence was so deep it had a buzz to it, a ringing in their ears. But then came the traces of ruffling. The scraping of something against grass. It was barely audible, but they recognized it after who knows long of hearing their own clothes scrape along dirt, against grass, or getting caught in bushes. They couldn't tell where it was coming from, the way it blended with all other wild sounds. The different directions from which each sound came began to torture them, that they'd rather hear the explosion of gunfire all around them.

The slight scratching again. They couldn't help but picture a long scythe dragging along the ground.

Terror flooded their minds. They thought of the creeps living out there in the wilderness, waiting for curious, stupid tourists to wander nearby. Even though logic fought against it, their hearts pumped horrendous figments into their imaginations, of shapeless, unrealistic monsters out there. But after a long time of creating horrible shapes in the darkness of their minds, they realized that monsters were _better_ than prowling humans with murderous intent.

In an instant, Riki was paralyzed with dread and regret. _I should have never brought us out here . . ._

"Dupont," said Riki, leaning close into Audriane's ear to preserve all chances of her voice reaching their predator. She felt the latter's lips quiver under her hand, which was clamming with sweat. "We . . . we need to find that monastery."

Her partner nodded slowly, as if fearing any slight movement would expose their position in the tall grass. Thank _God_ for the grass. It was barely taller than them as they crouched, but it was better cover than nothing.

"Ok," whispered Riki, "one of us distracts him, the other runs away as fast as she can."

Anger and confusion swelled in Audriane's breast. If she could see her partner, she would have glared at her, even punch her: the girl's useless lack of preparation for their escape to the wild—now this STUPID suggestion?

Riki felt Audriane shake her head, but Riki pressed her palm against the girl's mouth. "We have no choice. Someone's gotta be decoy—."

Audriane stripped Riki's hands off her mouth, whispering, "And if there are more of them?"

"That's what I brought the gun for—."

_Crunch_.

They fell silent, the weight of impatience and anxiety upon them, as thick as the night, as itchy as the grass around them.

Riki's chest fluttered with the need to take flight. "I'll run," she whispered reluctantly. "Hopefully they'll chase me."

This time, Audriane gripped her hand firmly. "No_._ Your idiocy bring us out here."

Riki was offended, but focused. "Got any ideas?"

"No—but two is better than one!"

Riki wiped her hands, afraid her sweat would make her gun too slippery to grip. Sweat trickled down the bridge of her nose, traced her jawline and collected under her chin, drenched her forehead in diamonds, and coated her neck and collarbone and arms in grime.

She had never felt so scared. There was something different about this experience compared to the school massacre. She didn't know why, and for no good reason, felt guilty for thinking that. Then she realized it was because they were _alone_. No one was there to help them, no other students around them to play target. How horrible of her to think that . . . and yet, she just wanted to _literally_ live to see the sun again.

"We don't run," decided Riki, carefully pronouncing every syllable so Audriane could understand but softly enough so they weren't heard. "We wait it out. You're right, any action isn't worth the risks."

So they waited.

….

They kept waiting. And waiting. Still.

Every few minutes—more like hours—Audriane would budge, but Riki tightened her grip on her wrist, or pressed her hand harder against Audriane's mouth. Right then and there she wished Audriane did the same to her, however, felt it was more important that Audriane didn't peep a sound.

There were hopeful moments where they didn't hear anything, and Audriane almost mistook the crickets as a signal that it was over. However, experience told her to never expect a miracle. Getting her hopes up high was something she'd sworn to never do again. Not until she saw daylight.

Audriane dared to whisper: "Maybe it a wandering animal?"

"My gut just tells me it's not," said Riki. "I don't want to risk it. Even if it means waiting for dawn."

Just hearing herself say that made Riki's heart spasm with anxiety. Her eyes strained to see in the dark, to search for some familiar human silhouette to emerge from the grass. She was sick of not being able to see anything, but deep down preferred not to.

So they stilled, they crouched, they listened. If there truly was someone out there, hiding was the only thing that would save their lives now. The darkness was against them, and yet it was their cloak. But _waiting_ . . . it was the most exhausting mental effort they have ever experienced in all their training, their bodies buzzing with adrenaline.

They listened to the crickets. When the chirping escalated, the girls' best guess was that the person had wandered farther away. When the crickets fell silent, they assumed the person was back. Their heartbeats thumped like knocks under a wooden floor. Never had they felt more awake, their senses tingling.

Then, the sound of static. A female voice. On a walke-talkie. "Did you find them?"

Answered by a murmur, another woman.

"No."

It was so foreign and loud that the girls nearly jumped and squealed. They thought they saw a figure emerge, but the night had long tricked their eyesight with swirling, deformed illusions that they didn't know what to trust.

"Why didn't you use the flashlight?"

"Seeing the light would only chase them away, and blind my peripheral vision."

Riki tried to identify the voices. It was hard to tell, with the walkie-talkie discording their voices, with their hunter speaking low.

"They're probably still there," said the walkie-talkie.

"Probably," said their predator.

Every word exchanged pierced Riki and Audriane's chests with horror.

"They can probably hear you, as we speak."

Chuckle. "Probably."

And just like that, their hunter ended the call. They heard rustling somewhere about fifteen meters away, then silence. Their hearts raced, their bodies quaking again. They anticipated sound, but didn't hear any.

Finally, the sound of running. It was scary to hear at first because they thought it was coming toward them. But it faded sharply in volume, into the night. Even long after, the girls made no sound, did not budge. They trembled, hands over their mouths in shock, with no choice but to stare into darkness, not being able to see their hands or knees.

It wasn't till a good ten minutes passed when a quiver rippled through their spines. Then, as if resurfacing from underwater, both girls gasped into sobs.


	12. Chapter 12: Trinity

**Author's Note: **listen to "Sixth Station" from Miyazaki's _Spirited Away_.

Chapter 12

Trinity

Riki and Audriane found the monastery.

Common sense told them to sleep off their anxiety and regain their strength, but fear consumed them. Near the sanctuary, they hid in a confessional, laid there awake and wary. If they had it their way, they would have cuddled up together in one side of the boxlike structure for safety purposes. However, the two separate bench rooms were only big enough for an average human to sit in, not lay in. Being teenagers of their length, they were fortunate to lie on the floor of each room, even if it meant being separated.

Surprisingly, Riki was the first to snore off in heavy slumber. Duty swelled in Audriane to listen for any danger, so she remained awake, though her eyes begged to differ. She felt a grim combination of relief and alarm, being safe and hidden in that box—but trapped. It made sleeping difficult and maintaining sanity nearly impossible. Audriane began to wonder if she'd prefer the noise of the crickets outside. The sudden emptiness of the sanctuary blocking out all sounds was just too spooky.

She remained awake, her ears turning sounds into horrifying, alien images in her mind. Often, of the woman in the dark.

This cold fear leeched to her like a coat; it covered her in sweat and shivers, all through the night until the slight silver of dawn. Then her heart slowed, and her fears shrank, swallowed by her own darkness of her own slumber. As Audriane felt herself fall in that oblivion, her last thoughts wishing Mireille and Kirika were there.

….

She awoke to hunger.

_It's like an animal trapped inside you,_ thought Audriane. After missing last night's dinner and having walked a whole night in the wilderness, hunger was like rumbling lava.

Audriane heard movement in the confessional. It echoed from the small sitting room on the other side of the screened wall. The next thing she noticed was how warm the sun shone through the crisscrossing diamonds of the wooden window. She peered out, saw how the dawnlight softened the ambience of the nave.

Next to her, Riki yawned and stretched, a sound so casual and beautiful that relief washed through Audriane's entire being.

They were alright.

Audriane sat up, peeking through the screen. "Hey."

Riki's face popped in view. She wiped her eyes, grunting, "Hey. How you doing?"

Audriane pushed down on her stomach, as if trying to calm the gnawing beast inside her. "Hungry," she said.

"I know, me too. I'm sorry, I know that's my fault. But it beats being back at Etxarren, though, right?"

Audriane couldn't argue with that, but the hunger festering inside her was beginning to. She saw Riki place her hand over her own stomach, wincing at the pain, eyes sullen.

But Riki was right. The fear they have long grown used to was nothing but a tickle in the back of their minds, barely a prick in their hardened hearts. They looked at each other briefly, before opening their doors and stepping out of the confessional.

As they stood there and stretched, they looked around. From the outside, the monastery had seemed rather big. But the nave that led to the altar was congested with wide benches that stretched almost to either side of the walls, making the aisles somewhat impassable. Triangular frames strung the walls, with heavy woodcarvings depicting biblical scenes; they were chipped and faded, hard to read. Above those pictures were slits of windows. The ancient stonewalls didn't seem so ghostly anymore. Seeing the daylight pour in was all they needed to feel safe again.

Riki was just glancing at the block-like patterns on the wooden ceiling when her stomach stole her attention. She looked at Audriane, who leaned over holding her own.

"We need to eat, it very painful," groaned Audriane.

Riki nodded in agreement, a little hazy from the heavy sleep; she knew it was also from lack of food. Without a word, she followed Audriane, who assumingly had explored these interiors from last time. She led them through what looked like an inside courtyard, a cross-shaped network of cement paths and grass. As they walked it, Riki noted that the patches of green were clovers.

"What is this place?" she asked, slowing down at the center of the paths, where rainwater trickled into a drain. It glowed in a halo of light. Riki looked up at a circular opening in the ceiling. The sky stared back.

"I try to remember World Religions class," muttered Audriane, squatting down, fingering through the healthy clovers. "This called . . the 'garth', or the 'cloister'—er, no, the cloisters make up the garth . . .?"

"So . . . GARDEN? It's a garden," chuckled Riki. "You could have just said that."

"Sorry. Garden," said Audriane absent-mindedly. With her fingers, she traced the soft three-lobed leaves of the clovers. "These called 'clovers'. Or 'shamrocks'?"

"I thought _you_ were the genius."

"I not know anything about _plants_."

"I think they're the same thing, but I think the shamrock is specifically the symbol of Ireland . . ."

Riki impatiently watched her feel the clovers. Deep inside, she thought the beast inside her would burst and devour _Audriane_—Riki's hunger was that painful. Last night's heavy sleep revived them, but with that accumulating pain in their stomachs reminding them to eat, she felt her morning grumpiness catching up. To add to that, she could barely stand. The last thing they needed was running into strangers, malnourished.

"C'mon, let's go find something to eat—," began Riki.

"What are Three Saplings?" murmured Audriane.

"C'monnn, you said so yourself you were hungry!"

"You hear Mireille and Kirika talk about Three Saplings?"

"Audriane, c'mon, food—!"

"You wonder too, yes?" Audriane paused, marveling, "Three Saplings. Always the number three—."

"OHMYGOD!" roared Riki, who folded her hands together in mocking prayer. "Lord, Our Father, please guide Dupont to a table of food so that we may rest in peace. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen—now _c'mon_, Dupont!"

Audriane was twirling a clover in between her fingers, pondering. "You know the saying, 'God is said to be trinity in unity'—?"

"Duponttttt," groaned Riki, bending over and squeezing her stomach. "Why do you have to stop and analyze everything? What do clovers and trinities matter right now? We're in a crisis!"

"I am serious. Trinity is holy. It has meaning." When Riki's eyes bulged at her, ready to fall out, Audriane blurted, "You not _slightly_ curious about Three Saplings? Or that Chloe?"

At this, Riki silenced. "Who?"

"Kirika's friend, Chloe. They talked about her in car to airport?"

"Ok?"

"They thought we asleep in car," said Audriane, lost in memory. "Chloe . . . Three Saplings. They spoke about Chloe, who was. . . 'handed' over to them—the Soldats—?"

Riki threw her hands up in the air. "What the hell do you care? We left them all behind. Let's go find something to eat. Monks don't just starve in their monasteries, do they?"

Audriane sighed, then stood up. "Refectory this way, I think," she said, her voice trailing off as she led them out of the garth.

"The wha . . .?"

"The room for communal meals." Pause. "I think."

Audriane pressed on, forcing Riki to follow, hand on her gun tucked in the back of her pants. When Audriane heard that familiar click, she wheeled around, looking around frantically, then at Riki.

"Don't do that!" she exclaimed.

Riki glowered, gesturing around them. "Uh, remember last night?"

"I feel not safer with _that_ around—only in battle," said Audriane, turning around as if afraid to look at it. Regardless, Riki caught her looking around them warily.

They were already outside behind the monastery. Cemetery statues or stray blocks stood in the yellowish-green grass, sometimes raised on different levels of ground. Uneven doorways arched each other in seemingly nonsensical ways. The girls turned around to look at the stone building they just exited: a stout attachment to the monastery, with scalloped shingles and a dome tower on top, a slit of a window on its front and a cross perched on top with branchlike extensions.

"So now what?" asked Riki, looking at the grey morning around them. The sun they saw earlier sulked behind low clouds that draped the dark mountains like a descending blanket.

"So hungry," said Riki, sitting on a stone square in the grass. Then she perked up. "Did you hear that? I think I heard sheep. _Foood_!"

"You kill innocent animals?" said Audriane, who had stopped in front of a statue that looked like the Queen piece from a Chess game.

When she saw Riki pull out the gun behind her back, Audriane joined her. However, Riki pointed her back toward the doorway that led back to the garth.

"Stay hidden," whispered Riki, eyes darting everywhere, gun parallel to her face. "I hear someone, too."

Audriane pointed at the gun in her hand. "I snipe, give to _me_!"

"Oh, good point." Riki tossed Audriane her gun, which set Audriane off on a banter about how weapons shouldn't be thrown around like toys. However, Riki urged her to hide inside the monastery with the gun, while she stood her ground.

Riki turned, and saw a sheep. Then another. Two more ambled in from an opening in the weak iron fence that surrounded the monastery. Walking among them, was a monk.

"Where's he been?" muttered Riki, loosening her stance.

When the bald man saw Riki, he smiled and waved, leaving behind his sheep grazing near the gate. His brown cloak brushed over his feet as he approached her, his gold cross necklace winking in the sunlight.

He was a sight to rejoice, a familiarity to be consoled by. However, the moment he mouthed a greeting, Riki realized she could not understand him.

Riki stood there helplessly, the mental effort to translate what he was saying exhausting. It's been a while since she'd heard any other language and quite frankly, felt uneasy by the alien sound.

Before she had a chance to reply, Audriane stepped up next to her.

"French," said Audriane, smiling at the monk.

As they spoke, Riki snuck a glance to see where Audriane hid the gun but saw it nowhere on her partner. She became distracted by the monk's silvery, tangled beard that looked like grass hanging from his chin. His face was slightly stout; his eyes, far apart, but small and squinty, like a goat's.

The corners of the man's eyes crinkled as he smiled politely to whatever Audriane was explaining to him. Riki tried to interpret the emotions on the older man's face—who didn't look as old as she thought, probably in his late forties.

It was only a few minutes when Audriane waved at him, then started walking away. Riki bowed to the monk and followed. Ahead of her she noticed Audriane quickening her pace along a faded trail of dirt leading from the monastery. She caught up with her by a hill, a shoulder of bone-white rocks that seemed to glare against the cloudless sky.

"Hey! So, what'd he say?" asked Riki.

"First, we disappear from sight."

"Why the whispering?"

"Because old men freak me out."

Riki paused. "What? You were just talking and smiling with one."

"You not know French."

"Ok. Well, don't walk away so quickly—he was a _monk_. It looks rude."

Audriane laughed. "You? Concerned about hurting feelings?"

Riki glared. "Hey, I was raised to respect my elders."

"Not the point!" blurted Audriane, waving off the argument with her hands. "Anyway, he say a town nearby. Laguardia. It small, but has maps, phones, police. We call for help!"

"How far away?"

"Long way."

"_Numbers_, Audriane!"

"Uh . . . fifty miles . . .?"

Riki froze. "We were _that_ close to people?" Audriane stopped, too, with a look of dread and realization. "Those damn bitches made us believe we were far from civilization!"

They had their moment of disbelief as they stood there. Even Audriane felt all senses of faith in Mireille and Kirika drip into the ground and evaporate.

They looked at the Cantabrians before them. So slender and random and dangerous. Thinly layered with green, as if someone took a roll of paint and scraped it along them. The lower tree-covered mountains rose to naked gray rocks, with purpled grooves in their scraggly forms.

Beckoning. A beautiful day to be free.

Riki clenched her fists. "Those two will be fine on their own."

"Kirika . . . not bad," murmured Audriane, as if afraid Riki would hate her for it.

Instead, Riki said nothing. For a second, Audriane thought she saw sympathy in her eyes—but then Riki started patting herself all over.

"Audriane! Where's that gun?"

Her friend gasped. "In . . . the monastery."

"WHY?"

"He would see it on me!" Audriane thought it was a good reason, but Riki only freaked out more.

"We have to go back! That was our only weapon!"

Riki turned on her heels, but Audraine grabbed her arm. "Don't rush! He get more suspicious! Be calm! Walk together."

Riki glared at her. "If he finds it, I'm going to kill you."

Audriane snorted. "You said so yourself. What will a _monk_ do with a gun?"

They looked at each other. All of a sudden, the bubble of anger Riki felt inside her burst—into giggles. Audriane giggled too, as if forcing out something she'd been holding back. It was as if a giant boulder had been lifted off their backs. They looked at each other, saw a human being in each other.

It was a short-lived giggle, but felt good. Riki couldn't believe there was a tickle of laughter left inside her after everything they've been through. The school massacre. Being kidnapped. Being tracked down by a nocturnal hunter. Now this dark humor? She suddenly felt the need to cry her guts out, but held back the tears.

"C'mon," said Riki, clearing her throat. She led them back toward the monastery.

"Maybe he feed us," said Audriane cheerfully, as if that exchange of giggles was all she needed to know they were friends. "Silly, we thought of a town before food. Monasteries have refectories, so he will be able to feed us."

Riki smirked, the first of many to come. "I'm beginning to appreciate your Encyclopedia-of-a-mouth."

Audriane gave a flat expression. "You _need_ me."

"Ha. You wish—."

_Click-ching!_

Audriane had cried out, grabbing her arm. Riki looked at her, confused.

"What is it?" shouted Riki. When Audriane only answered in whimpers, squeezing her arm, Riki reached for it. "Show me your arm!"

They both looked at it, seeing nothing at first, but then a red line slowly spread across Audriane's triceps. It was almost magical, how clean the cut was, how it appeared in front of their eyes just like that.

Then, what sounded like bells against rock. _Click-ching_! They snapped their heads toward the boulder behind them. Something winked in the sunlight. Before they could figure out what it was, they heard the sound again. It was a whistling, high-pitched, almost like screeching wind in the distance.

Something flew past Riki's head, between her and Audriane. Instinct told her it was lethal. Already, she and Audriane dove behind the ragged rocks on the hill next to them—low rocks, but better than nothing.

The girls laid flat onto their stomachs, looking at each other.

Audriane panicked. "What was that?"

It hadn't been even gunfire, not even a bomb, and yet they felt the world buzz with silence, their hearts the only explosion in their heads. To think they would have been used to this already, being targeted—and yet they didn't know why.

Riki looked at the cut on Audriane's arm. "Knives," she huffed in reply.

Audriane's eyes widened. The idea of being cut to ribbons rather than shot to death was apparently far more frightening to her.

"I'm gonna peek around, see who it is," said Riki, slowly moving.

Audriane grabbed her arm. "NO! You get stabbed in the face!"

"Well we can't just stay here! They'll get to us! We gotta surprise them!"

Holding her breath, Riki braced herself. She popped her head out for any quick scan of their situation, then ducked again.

"Shit!" she hissed.

"What? What, what!"

"They disappeared."

"What!"

"Hold on! And shut up, they'll hear you!" hissed Riki, glaring.

Audriane closed her mouth, bringing her knees under her as she sat on them and huddled against their rock. She planted her forehead against the dirt, as if hoping the world would disappear. She felt claustrophobic. In fact, all she saw was those white masks of the Knights that broke into their school. How they grinned at her, slipping through that glass like snakes, stepping into her world from their world of unimaginable darkness.

It hadn't been just an invasion of their school, but an invasion of her world. That day, her world had crumbled, and this very moment behind the rock only reminded her of that.

She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move. She barely noticed how much she was shaking. Never did she think the same word could repeat in her head:

Why?

_Click-ching!_

That, and the sound of Riki slamming back onto the ground for cover, brought Audriane back.

"I saw someone," she whispered excitedly. "I think there's only one! I haven't seen others—he's doing all the throwing!"

"You sure?" said Audriane, trying to calm her gasping for air.

Riki saw this, and put her hand on Audriane's shoulder. "I would comfort you," she said, "but we can't stay here. It's the two of us against him. We can take him!"

"We no combat training! Against _knives_!"

"If we run, we're only open game," retorted Riki.

"We fight, and we're open game!"

"_We_ make first blow!"

"Against a _pro_ who throws knives like THAT?"

Riki almost roared in frustration, but contained herself. They had no more time to lose, she realized. It had grown quiet out there. Silence was always bad. When their enemy was throwing knives she at least had a sense of where he was, how far away he was. She felt the situation climaxing.

She was eye-level with Audriane, speaking frantically but sternly. "_Look_. You make a run for the gun in the monastery. Get it, and hide there. I'll distract him."

Fleeing from someone throwing knives wasn't as fast and risky as someone shooting a gun. At least, in Riki's opinion.

"You not learn anything from last night!" snapped Audriane.

Frustrated, Riki grabbed her classmate's shoulders—who gasped, startled—and nearly shook her violently, but stopped herself. She felt her partner shaking. She remembered their little tender moment back a few minutes ago—_was_ it only _minutes_ ago?—how she was reminded that they were all human.

Riki exhaled, and tightened her grip on Audriane's shoulders. Stared her in the eyes. "Just get the gun."

She jumped to her feet and ran out into the open.

"RIKI!" shouted Audriane.

That last quick glimpse of Riki was enough for Audriane to take in the expression on her face, a fierce, undying expression she would never forget.


	13. Chapter 13: Acquiescence

**Author's Note: **some good ol' Yuki Kajiura's battle songs: "L.A.'s Theme": watch?v=Q2UAWw5pqqI&amp;index=32&amp;list=PLF30F3515EB68AFEA

Chapter 13

Acquiescence

_Human,_ thought Riki as she rolled, dodging a knife. _We're all human._

She charged at the rock where she last saw their predator.

_And so is THIS BITCH!_

A knife nearly struck Riki's ankle. She instantly broke out into a sweat, clambering to her feet. She charged. Blindly.

_Just make it to the rock!_

She threw herself low against the rock where she last saw their enemy hiding on the other side. It would obscure her enemy's sight _just_ for a second. Riki stayed low, hands and feet ready to throw herself opposite wherever the enemy attacked from. She waited. Tried to breathe, tried to silence her panting. Strained to hear what was going on the other side of the rock. Her body trembled, as if yearning for action.

She heard scraping against grass.

Riki moved, ready to react—but a shadow eclipsed her world. She looked up, as something flew overhead. Then, there _she_ was, the predator, behind her, standing there. Colors of white, red, and black . . . a wooden mask . . .

It was the girl from last night. Who else would it be?

And what the _hell_ was she wearing?

Those were Riki's ridiculous last thoughts before she realized the girl was about to throw a knife at her.

"RIKI!"

_Who was that? _

By then, Riki already expected a knife at her throat, expected a blinding vision of her own blood spraying everywhere. But nothing happened. Because both she and the stranger looked over and saw Audriane—

Wait, what was Audriane still doing here! Did she get the gun already—impossible, that was _too_ fast . . .!

"Dammit, Audriane—!" gasped Riki, but their enemy turned around and knocked her into rock; Riki felt the world slam hard against the back of her head.

Then there was a gunshot.

Riki's eyes were open, but she couldn't see anything. It was her vision; it swayed from the throbbing pain in her head. Colors blinked in her peripheral vision as she tried to look up. Pain stiffened her spine. She couldn't move. She was barely on the edge of consciousness, felt herself slipping in and out of an abyss threatening to swallow her. She wanted to scream, while needles of pain bit into every inch of her body—but only her mouth opened, a moan barely escaping.

The crackle and pop of gunfire filled her ears. What was going on?

Riki's vision gradually started to clear. She blinked. The pain was replaced by a numbness that made her wonder if she could move. She shifted to her right, then rolled to her left, then leaned up on an elbow, woozy and weak. She tried to yell for Audriane, but only a gurgling groan came out. On her hands and knees like a wounded dog, she started crawling. Throbbing in pain, she watched the world tilt, then crash.

Shouts.

Two, then three figures stood over her.

She couldn't remember when it had happened, but she had collapsed, her face resting against pebbles and dirt and grass. She felt hands pulling at her shirt, felt herself lifted through the air. Then back down, slung over something soft, but not too soft either—a ridge of some sort. Something thick yet dry. Her arms and legs were swinging on either side of her.

"Don't fall," said a stone-hard voice.

Mireille.

At first, Riki felt confusion. Then, as she neared unconsciousness, an indescribable joy lifted her heart—they were safe. She wanted to grunt her gratitude, but closed her eyes and passed out.

…

She felt her legs bobbing and thumping against something. Her head nodded to the bouncing. Something warm and firm wrapped around her stomach. Looking down, flashes of green. The beautiful rhythmic sound of hooves. A horse snorting.

Finally, Riki woke to see Audriane's face staring down at her. She looked worried. There was a dark dirt stain on her forehead and a bruise forming on her cheek. Her wounds seemed to remind Riki of her own, the sting across her whole body.

"Riki!" she exclaimed.

Riki shifted to lean on her elbow and winced at the pinching pain up her spine, and the throb in her head. It was like a headache, but all around the surfaces of her head: her forehead, behind her eyes, in her temples, against the back of her head.

"Here, eat," said Audriane softly. She held out something in her hand.

Things were blurry for a second, and at first Riki didn't believe that what she thought was just a few inches from her face was real. But then its image sharpened, and she recognized the red roundness of the apple, with flecks of green scattered across its shiny surface.

"For real . . .?" Riki didn't bother to finish, those two words alone sapping her strength.

"Eat," said Audriane, followed by a wet crunch, eating her own.

Drawing the last remnants of energy from somewhere deep inside herself, Riki pushed herself up onto an elbow and grabbed the fruit. She bit into it, and tasted that burst of flavor.

Moaning, she attacked the rest of it and had eaten down to its stumpy core before Audriane had even finished hers despite the head start.

Audriane smiled. "Don't eat too fast, you barf it again."

"I'll eat it again," mumbled Riki jokingly.

"Here. _Slow_, this time."

Audriane handed over another apple to Riki, who took it without saying thank you and chomped a big bite. As she chewed, she could actually feel the first traces of energy trickling through her body.

"_So_ good," said Riki through her muffled chewing. "Where'd you get these?" Riki paused, looking around them. "Hell, where are we?"

"The monastery."

"Really?" Riki sat up, realizing she sat on something soft. She looked around herself, seeing that she was sitting on clovers. The garth.

"It was the softest surface we could find for your head," said Audriane.

"Where's . . . Mireille and Kirika?" asked Riki.

"In refectory, with monk. Making food."

"Oh . . . did he hear all that gunfire?"

"I hope not. I feel bad."

Riki looked at Audriane in the eyes for the first time. The girl looked tired. Clearing her throat, Riki said, "Hey . . . um, thanks."

Audriane hesitated. "Thank Mireille and Kirika."

Suddenly all of Riki's memories shot through her mind like an arrow. That woman. Their enemy. Knives. Blue eyes. Strange clothes. Riki stood abruptly, causing her to sway. Audriane did as well, staying close, with a sweeping glance of concern.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Take me to the rectory—."

"_Refectory_—."

"Refectory." Although she had asked Audriane to lead, Riki already started walking. Audriane had to turn her around, then gestured her to follow her in the other direction.

The refectory was next door on the other side of the garth's south wall. There, they entered a long, narrow room with stone tables stretching the whole span on either side. Bricks were flattened against the beige walls, the paint long chipped and stripped of its hue. The thin, narrow windows allowed little room for sun, but there was something holy about the streaks of light streaming through.

At the far end, they saw Mireille, Kirika, and the monk setting down musty dishes of muted colors.

When Noir heard their footsteps echo in the chamber, they turned.

"What are you doing walking around like that?" said Mireille, hand on her hip. "Stay down. You may have a concussion. We have someone here to take a look at you."

Riki gestured to their surroundings. "Who, in this godforsaken wild?"

They approached the three at the stone table that seemed to be melded into the wall, absent of legs.

When Audriane saw the monk, she pointed to him. "_He_ look at Riki?" she asked.

The monk smiled, but said nothing; Mireille spoke for him. "Bakar's monastic schooling has so far taught him only herbal remedies. So, no, he wouldn't know how to inspect for possible concussions."

Mireille raised a hand to stop further comments. "With that said . . . eat. Afterwards we head back to Etxarren."

Riki would have argued, but her energy was still low, and her head fuzzy. For the first time, she gladly obeyed Mireille. She grabbed a plate of cheese, grapes, bread, and apples and hopped onto the table. Audriane sat next to her.

As they ate, Mireille cut to the point. "So. Do you know who attacked you?"

Riki grumbled and chewed, bits of apple falling from her mouth as she ate ravenously. "You're the ones who fought her off, apparently."

"This good idea, to say in front of Bakar?" asked Audriane, nodding sideways to the monk who went through the other door leading to the kitchen. They heard the obvious clamor of pots and silverware.

"Oh, Bakar knows everything," said Mireille curtly. "When we came along, he told us where he'd heard it. He also claims to have met the woman prior to meeting you two. He identified her as five-six feet tall, auburn hair, shoulder-length."

"Then why you asking us?" asked Riki.

"In case you may have seen her face," said Mireille.

Kirika consoled, "It's ok if you don't remember much. Those in panic suffer post-traumatic stress, and black out on such details. They barely remember a _thing_, until memories randomly ambush them."

Riki struggled to think, but shook her head. "What else did Bakar say?"

"He actually saw her face—well, half of it."

"Shit, yeah, she was wearing a mask," recalled Riki. "An oval, wooden mask. With dried red and yellow-brown paint . . ."

"Bakar said the mask covered her nose and mouth. But he saw blue eyes. And he made it important to add how _kind_ she was, strangely."

Riki and Audriane looked at each other.

Mireille's eyes were squinty with scrutiny. "Sound familiar?"

Riki snorted half-heartily. "_Yeah_, after she rammed my head against rock, I told her I forgave her and we had a nice picnic in the monastery. We then had a sleepover in the garth, shopped at Laguardia, and talked about boys. Together. Like friends. Laughing."

Kirika cut in before Mireille could retaliate against Riki's sarcasm. "We only ask just so we know who we're up against, what she looks like, and her motives."

"Even without the mask, I doubt _we'd_ know anyone related to this Noir crap," hesitated Riki. "The only ones who can tell us that are you two—."

"Ok, so, obviously you're not in the condition or _mood_ to discuss this," said Mireille, sighing. "Just hurry up and eat. We go back to Etxarren. Someone's there to patch you up."

"Why the hell would I go back there?"

Mireille wrapped her hair behind her as if to make a ponytail, but only to save herself from the humidity. "Yeah, we know you hate us and Noir and hermit life in the mountains, but we gotta go back and have a doctor look at any damage you may have taken."

"We're fine," said Riki. "And we're gonna keep heading to Laguardia."

"No you're not fine, you may have internal bleeding, and no, you're not going to Laguardia."

Riki jumped off the table, standing her ground against Mireille. "You have _no_ _right_ after making it sound like we were far from civilization! You lied to us—oh wait—STUNNED," she added sarcastically, fingers pointed at herself like a gun.

"_Enough,"_ said Mireille. "We saved you, what, three times now? The least you could do is _listen_ to us—."

"Hell, and go back there—?"

"You _know_ what will happen if you leave the Cantabrians. They'll kill _all_ of us—."

"Risking our lives to get to Laguardia or wherever civilization is—it's better than this life you chose for us—."

"Pah! With that killer out there? You don't know what she could do to you, who ordered her—."

"At least she was quiet—."

Mireille suddenly slammed her fist on the table next to Riki. "LOOK, I know I'm not likeable! But what about Kirika?" She pointed at the brunette next to her. "I know you don't hate her anywhere as much as me. I know that she's been kind to you behind my back. I know you don't have anyone worth dying for, but _I_ do! Don't mind if I die, but would you mind _her_ dying? Would you not _flinch_ just at the _thought_ of her dying? Or anyone dying? What about Audriane, your classmate? Is she not the same as the classmates you lost at your school? I'm ASKING you, would you mind? Would you care? Do you really care for just yourself—are you really that heartless? I'm ASKING you!"

"Putting yourselves before children—_I'm_ not the heartless one—!" roared Riki.

"SO WE'RE EVEN!" interrupted Mireille, throwing her arms up. "We're both horrible!" She leaned in close. "But not heartless. We work this out together."

"How can we when I can't even trust you? You don't tell us anything! You knew who we were, how to find us—you know everything about us, but we don't know anything about you! So how can we trust you—?"

"IT'S ALL YOU GOT," shouted Mireille. Her voice lowered, yet remained strong. "I'm _asking_ you, can we work this out?"

"Answer that yourself, then. Are you willing to tell us everything?"

Mireille fell silent, but only for a couple of seconds. "Depends on you, too. But, yes, maybe, in time, we can explain everything. But I'm asking you—I'm _begging_ you—return to Etxarren with us. I _can_ tell you this, we don't know what is a trial and what isn't. Who knows when they'll actually decide to kill you. For all we know, they had _anticipated_ you trying to escape Etxarren so they could send that woman after you to capture you, or eliminate you, who knows. _Really_, I don't know who sent that woman. But point is, they could throw anything at us, at you two. If you want to make it out of this Noir crap alive, you stick with us. Don't wander off, or you'll put everyone in danger—Kirika and I were already in a fight on our way here to get you. Ok? So please, let's go back, and make you stronger."

Kirika finally jumped in. "No journey is without its obstacles. You have to become stronger, and we can help you with that. Think of it like this: _win_, and you earn your freedom."

It fell silent. The teenagers looked at Noir, sensing Mireille's humiliation at having to lower to such . . . weakness. Softness. Vulnerability. Riki almost liked it, until something softened in her. She watched Mireille's face, a battlefield of emotions, of struggle, of hatred, pain and desperation, nothing held back. It blushed with pride that had been lost, but with emotion.

Audriane watched how Kirika stepped a little closer to Mireille, looking at her with concern. There it was again, that spark, that devotion. It was just what she and Riki needed to survive.

Audriane looked at her nearly-empty plate. "We sorry," she murmured, looking up. "We promise, we not abandon you."

It was as if she turned a switch off in Riki, who'd been wavering; she glared at her partner. Audriane only answered with a stern nod.

"So many times, you could abandon us," said Audriane. "We not trust Asher or Shirihime, or that woman in the dark. It is clear now. We work this out."

She wasn't sure if she was entirely ok with what she was saying. She could feel the seed of doubt in her, of panic. What if they were stuck in this godforsaken place, as beautiful as it was? What if through all their efforts, Noir abandoned them? If Asher and the other factions decided to go in for the kill? How long would it be before the Soldats' need for entertainment ran dry? All of this teamwork and training—then inevitable death?

Should they run for it? No . . . that was speeding up death, without Mireille and Kirika's protection . . .

Riki was still glaring at her. Audriane had enough of it, and turned to her menacingly. "This is the best idea, Riki," she snarled.

Her partner sighed. "Ok," said Riki. "The sooner we get stronger, the better. But remember, no secrets, no lies."

"Yes," said Audriane, as they put their plates aside on the table. "Tell us everything. At least, bit by bit. Riki not survive from overload of information."

"That's not funny," said Riki flatly.

Kirika smiled. It was small, but it was bright. She looked over at Mireille, who looked emotionally defeated yet impatient.

"Ok," said Kirika, nodding.


	14. Chapter 14: Third

Chapter 14

Third

"Do they know?"

"Who about what?"

"You know what I mean."

"About the Three Saplings? Probably not. I doubt Noir told them everything."

"They will have to know eventually. Otherwise, it's unfair to them. What we're doing. Tell me . . . why did you tell me everything, whereas they barely know a thing?"

"You know about the Trials. How one makes of a situation, of a relationship. Testing to see how they fare from different soils and different amounts of water and light."

"'Let us feed the Saplings with water and light' . . . Gimme a break."

"Look at _you_, you are nothing but a blooming example. You know almost everything about Noir, and for some reason, you are willing to soak yourself into the darkness, whereas they are not."

"It's _cruel_."

"But you do as the Soldats asks, what I ask anyway. Why question it for those two but not for yourself?"

Snort. "I guess that's the curse of the Third."

"You may not like to admit it, but you have ego. It's all you have. You have nothing else to lose, so you thought, Why not?"

"Speaking of Thirds . . . why me? Why did you save me?"

"I suppose fate. I wasn't planning on it, nor our lord. This tends to happen in the Trials. Look at you. You are just as new as the other two, but you are ripe! Your aim could use improvement, but . . . we did not expect you to exceed at this rate—."

"I almost killed them."

Pause. "I am surprised you have not attempted to kill _me_ for that."

Glare. "You're right . . ." A snarl of frustration. "Ugh, I dunno. I mean, I didn't know them that well. I didn't know her, but still . . . thank god for my awful aim because I . . . could have killed her."

Mocking. "I taught you well."

"That's not funny! I couldn't recognize her from afar, she looked so different—I didn't think others had survived, let alone get dragged to the Cantabrians, into _this_! Why didn't you tell me they had survived?"

"You know why. The Trials."

"It's repulsive!"

Shrug. "If that is the case, why _not_ kill me and everyone else? Why do still stand, here, as I groom you? Because you cannot do anything about what's passed."

"That doesn't get you off the hook for lying to me about survivors, and then about who my targets were. Alright?"

"You awfully sweet for a girl of your deadly skill."

Dark brooding, but a tentative sigh. "I guess I should be grateful. You _did_ save me."

"I didn't have to . . ."

"_I get it_. In any case, when will I be able to reveal myself to them?"

"You know when people say, 'When the time comes, you'll know'?"

"Yeah?"

Smile. "Guess what I am about to say."

Sigh. "When the time comes. I know."

….

It was unsettling to be surrounded by Soldats; standing by the door, by the barn, by the pond, by the dirt trail. Hovering over Riki and company. Silent, impassive faces. Shades and black suits; so much black.

Mireille hated every moment of it, as much as Riki did. She could see it on the high schooler's face as the doctor questioned her, checking her head.

"Any headaches?" asked the doctor.

"I got my head rammed against rock, so . . . _yeah_," said Riki rather sardonically.

"Dizziness?"

_"Rock."_

He seemed entertained. "Feel tired? Sensitivity to noise or light?"

"Me? Tired? After a battle with your angel of death you guys sent?"

The doctor chuckled, his voice warm. "Hey, I'm just the doctor."

"A _Soldat_," growled Mireille.

"With a name," replied the doctor with a tip of his head. "You can call me Stefan. And I will call you Mireille and Kirika and Riki and Audriane." He returned to his examination on Riki. "So, your emotional mood? Any irritability, nervousness, anxiety—?"

"I think he just playing with you," said Audriane, budging an awkward smile; she didn't know what reaction she'd get from Riki.

Riki folded her arms. "Yeah. I know."

Stefan grinned. "Ah, so you got me. Noir wins, Soldats lose."

"Get out," blurted Mireille. They were positive if she was forced to repeat that for the third time, she would have thrown a chair at him or shoot him out the door.

Ignoring the glares in the room, Stefan packed his things and headed out. All his men in suits followed sharply, broad, but stiff, as if expecting Noir to jump them.

Kirika walked up to Stefan, blocking his exit. "Is she ok?"

"Yes," he said. "Just a slight concussion. No internal bleeding or brain clogs from the blow. Keep a close eye on her." Stefan paused, looking Kirika up and down with fascination. "So this is Noir . . ."

Kirika glared. "Please, not in front of the children."

Stefan's joking smile faded. He looked at the teenagers, then back at Kirika, and frowned. "Do they not realize when we say 'Noir', we refer to _you _—?"

"KIRIKA," called Mireille from the doorway. "Stay away from that Soldat."

"Ah, got me again!" said Stefan, pretending to make a break for it. He stopped and turned away, smiling at Kirika, who looked at him strangely.

He was in the middle of giving a short wave, when he stopped himself. "Oh, almost forgot. Give her the letter."

One of his guards approached Kirika and handed her over a white envelope with the Soldats' seal wax of the Maidens. The moment he handed it to her, Mireille was by Kirika's side. Interestingly, the guard backed away nervously. Both women watched him, forgetting that they were _the_ Noir. Technically, they still were. Mireille grinned to herself, then glared at the rest of the bodyguards. They shifted on their feet but didn't stir until Stefan led them out.

…

"Instead of Shirihime, Stefan shows up," marveled Audriane.

"Shoot me if I see _her_ again," said Riki, kicking her feet in the water.

Audriane looked at her incredulously. "Your concussion—you ok?"

"Just the usual symptoms of PISSED OFF," said Riki. "Are those two done with that letter yet?"

Audriane looked over their shoulders at Mireille and Kirika by the Etxarren entrance, hovering over Stefan's letter. She shrugged.

Riki threw a rock into the lake. "I've got some Q&amp;A's when they're finished with that."

"Now I think about it," said Audriane, "they act strange when they asked if we knew The Woman in the Dark."

Riki laughed. "Woman in the Dark—how poetic. How about 'The Nocturnal' or something? Sounds more . . . _shady_—oh wait, that's Shirihime's honorary title."

"But they asked if we knew this 'Nocturnal', like we _should_ know, you know?" said Audriane. She paused for a response, but Riki just shrugged.

Audriane couldn't help but dwell on the moment Riki paused during her argument with Mireille in the monastery. She had nearly forgotten about it, until right now with Riki wearing that same expression. She couldn't tell if it was epiphany or confusion, but was determined to get answers. If they were to "work this out", they needed to improve their _communication_, if not trust, in each other, at least of all people.

"Riki," murmured Audriane. "What is it?"

Her partner looked at her as if shocked she read her. "What?"

"Don't play dumb. My Japanese and English ok. I read and hear it better than speak it—but looking and reading a person's face, anyone can do."

Hesitation.

Audriane glared. "Riki. Trust me. Please."

Riki sighed. "It's notthat I don't. I just don't know if I'm sure . . . if I want to believe." When Audriane said nothing, Riki took that as a sign to continue. "Think about it. Remember when you shouted my name before our attacker struck me? And the way Bakar described her? Audriane, do you think our attacker was . . . Sakuya?"

At first, Audriane didn't recognize the name, for it's been a while. Then, she remembered. "_What?_ Sakuya Takagi? Not possible!"

"I don't know why I think that," said Riki. "But thinking back when I was this close to looking her in the eyes . . . it looked like her! Her hair wasn't waves and curls, and she was tanner, but really, I think it was her . . .!"

Audriane's voice rose slightly. "No! But . . ." Her voice dropped to whisper for a second, as if to herself: " I saw her _dying_—no, if it is, why would she want to kill us? Kill _anyone_?"

Riki didn't seem to hear her. "If it's Sakuya, if by weird, crazy chance she's been roped into this and ordered around by the Soldats—maybe she could tell us everything! She can explain to us what's going on! She won't hesitate, she'll—!"

"She tried to _kill_ us, Riki," said Audriane. "No point talking to someone with such intentions! She obeyed orders to hunt someone and kill, without remorse, without hesitation. No . . . _no_! I not want to talk to someone like that!"

"I don't think she recognized us," whispered Riki.

"Huh?"

"I think, like Mireille and Kirika, she was obeying shadows. She's left in the dark like the rest of us—she can help us!"

"Riki . . ." Audriane shook her head, eyes trembling with doubt. "It not been her. Who obeys to kill, like that?"

"It's no different from what we're about to do," whispered Riki. "I know we're gonna eventually have to do more killing, just like she had to. Now the question is, why she was separated from us in her training—?"

"Riki. It _not _her. I saw her . . . at the massacre."

"You . . . wait, what do you mean?"

"There was a hole in her chest. She was gasping for air. She was bleeding. Lots and lots." Audriane held her breath, reliving it all. She watched Riki's reaction, and decided to push it a little. "I saw her _dying_, Riki."

Riki was wide-eyed. "Why didn't you DO something to save her—?"

"Like _what_?" burst Audriane. "I just a kid, in high school! So are you! I didn't know anything, how to react to _that_! I was running for my LIFE!"

She stood up, heat swelling in her chest, like a plague in her body. She couldn't believe it. There _it_ was again, that look in Riki's eyes—that feeling Audriane felt resonating from her at every mention of Sakuya, a random classmate, a stranger, a girl who she saw _dying_ on a corpse-strewn cafeteria floor slippery with blood. This girl was the same irrational reason that nearly drove Riki to go back into the school while the massacre was still going. The same reason that endangered them all when they tried fleeing all those men. There was something strange, uncomfortable, mysterious, and nonsensical about Sakuya altogether.

Audriane saw something she's never seen in Riki's eyes, a glow that wouldn't shine for anyone else but this Sakuya. And she knew for a fact in just her couple of weeks at a new school, that Riki and Sakuya had never been friends who hung out on a daily basis.

"You . . . did you _like_ Sakuya?" whispered Audriane, slowly, as if the subtle word was allowing a foreign parasite to creep into her system.

Riki's eyes were glazed over, then she slowly remembered Audriane was there next to her. It was an expression that further pushed Audriane over the edge, dumbfounded: after all _this_, after everything they've been through, Riki had been thinking of Sakuya.

_No_. This Sakuya was going to mess things up—their trust with Mireille and Kirika, and their partnership. If it _was_ Sakuya, then it was clear that she was hellbent on killing them, on some other Soldats faction's orders, enemies of Sir Asher, of Shirihime—who, in turn, all three, were enemies of Noir. Enemies of Riki and Audriane.

As this processed in Audriane's mind, Riki, meanwhile, looked at her as if Audriane spoke an ugly truth that no one wanted to say. The elephant in the room—in Riki's gut, in her heart . . . it was finally inflating, forcing itself out. Or was it not an elephant, but something else? What was this random, crazy overload of devotion?

Audriane looked at Riki, for the first time in a different light. She felt a tinge of revolt—she felt like she _should_—but she wasn't sure what to feel just yet, either.

She was about to say something when Mireille called them over. "So, you wanna hear that bedtime story or what?"

….

Mireille started without wasting time. "A couple of things. For one, that the letter was from Sir Asher. As vulgar as this sounds, he _congratulates_ us for surviving _another_ Trial—not just that of Riki and Audriane surviving on their own in the wilderness, but of Kirika and I fighting and fleeing Asher's men, and then taking on your attacker. In due time, he expects us to take up 'assignments', 'commissions', or 'contracts', call it what you may. It could happen three days from now—hell, even today."

That last part was obviously a joke, but Riki and Audriane's grimace discouraged Mireille from more attempts.

"In other words," said Mireille, "he orders us to be ready for such tasks. Stick to it, stay with us, and you'll survive—."

"And when we do, when we _succeed_, what happens to you?" blurted Audriane.

"You won't see us again. The good kind," said Mireille, smiling triumphantly.

"Keep going," urged Riki.

"Second," said Mireille, "that you should, you deserve to, know more about the Soldats."

"About fucking time," said Riki.

"You've got quite a mouth on you, freshman," said Mireille.

The children leaned forward on their beds.

"Mireille," said Kirika.

"Anyway. It's going to take time to explain all of it to you. It'll be _a lot_ to take in. But in the meantime, shall we attempt?" Oxygen seemed to catch in Mireille's chest; she exhaled. "The Soldats. In their vast entirety, they were a group of people a thousand years ago who survived a bloody war. Many lives were lost, many atrocities witnessed. A group called Les Soldats formed—sworn to protect the weak and take revenge against the world. They became the very shadow that dominated Europe for centuries. They took place in every social part of humanity. For example, they witnessed the birth of certain mafias, like the Cosa Nova, which was created two-hundred-years ago. That means the Soldats are much older than Cosa Nova. Anyway, over the centuries, the Soldats have been consumed by the very greed they swore to undo."

"Sounds like a cautionary tale," scoffed Riki.

"A bedtime story," added Audriane.

"The underworld business isn't something _petty_ to make fun of lightly," said Mireille, raising her eyebrows. "Add it to what you learned in History class."

"Hence, the factions?" asked Audriane, pressing them on.

Kirika nodded. "Yes. They fight over Noir, for control of Noir . . . who should become Noir."

"I feel wanted and loved," said Riki with a flat expression. "Ok, ok, but in all seriousness. So . . . it is a mafia kind of thing, for the sake of comparing . . . right? Groups fighting over territory, only this time, more like who gets the best hitman, the best police dog, the best weapon?"

"Sure, if that's how you can comprehend it," snorted Mireille.

"And there were Noir's before us?"

Mireille hesitated, but only for a second before Riki caught it. "Yes. The pro's about the title of Noir is that you strike fear in the hearts of many. They think you're the same angel of death, this centuries-old guy that refuses to die. Sort of speak. Think of it like this—those suited men that were with Stefan were afraid of you."

"Really?" asked Audriane.

"Yeah," said Riki, thinking, "I kinda remember them looking like they were on edge. Which is funny, cuz _I_ was on edge."

"Which is why they were on edge. Too bad they weren't like that at the massacre," began Mireille, when Kirika glared at her. She cleared her throat, shrugging. "This is why you should look at the bright side of things. Doesn't matter how old you are or what sex. There used to be Noir's younger than you running around as the grim reaper."

"Really? That's creepy. Horror movies were enough for me, all those children with their dolls," said Riki, wiggling her fingers as though they were spiders.

"You could walk into a room full of thugs and their syndicate lord, and if you told them you were Noir, they'd be shaking," said Mireille. "Well, _don't_ do that, walking in just like that. It's stupid."

Kirika frowned at Mireille, then looked at the children, hoping they weren't finding this fun. "Also," she announced, "most still believe it's the name for _one_ person. That was back in the times of the Soldats of Old. With the Soldats of New, established recently, however . . . they started something to alter old traditions. The Trials . . . of the Three Saplings."

The students perked up at the sound of that, while Kirika fished for something in her pocket. "We found this from your battle with that woman," she said.

She pulled out a knife.

"These particular blades have been seen before in the Trials of Noir," said Kirika, her finger gently tracing the skinny T-shaped silver. "First, here, with you two. And from the last known Third Sapling."

Audriane burst. "Third Sapling! I knew it, I knew it related to Noir, with the number three!"

Kirika nodded solemnly, while Mireille discerned Audriane's excitement.

"_So_," said Mireille, "you know about the Trials, the Soldats' desire to control and choose Noir, the very pair originally created to protect the innocent. I'm assuming you can put two and two together."

"We're not the _only_ chosen ones?" guessed Audriane, slowly.

"'Chosen ones'," chuckled Mireille to herself.

Kirika answered. "Correct. There is yet a Third Sapling. You two are the First and the Second Saplings."

"That's why you asked if we . . . knew that woman sent after us!" gasped Audriane. She shot a look at Riki, as if expecting this to be the moment for her partner to confess about Sakuya.

Noir shot a glance at Riki, whose jaw dropped. She shook her head and snapped, "Wait? _Candidates_? Chosen to become Noir? I don't understand. I know my vocabulary isn't kick-ass, but if the definition of 'candidates' is what I think it is, then that means . . . we're _not_ Noir? Not yet? This training isn't because we _are_ but because we _could_ be? And that chance is sliced by the Third Sapling?"

"Yes," said Mireille, sensing their increasing grasp of things. She hardened her tone. "Listen well. We're training you to survive because the Third Sapling is part of the Trials. She or he could stop you."

"Survive?" said Riki. "That sounds like it entails . . . we survive each other." The color melted from Riki's face; she turned pallid. "We have to kill _each other_?"

Kirika's gaze dropped to the ground. The guilt was nauseating. "Yes. It was each Sapling for herself. Take down at least one other Sapling, and you're Noir with the surviving candidate. Right now, you two were fortunate to be picked from the massacre, side-by-side, so you don't have to worry about Riki killing Audriane or Audriane killing Riki. You trust each other more than anyone else in this room, in the world. I hope."

"For now, you just have to worry about the Third Sapling," said Mireille. "Which is why it was important for us to ask you if you knew the woman who attacked you. Because she was most likely—no, _definitely_—the Third Sapling."

The girls looked at each other in horror.

_Riki, tell them! _thought Audriane.

_If they know it's Sakuya, they'll shoot her on sight, _thought Riki.

"It has become a noticed pattern," announced Kirika, "that the Third Sapling has been raised differently and separately from the First and Second. You can tell by the way she carries herself, the way she is dressed, the traditional choice of weapons, such as this blade . . ."

They could tell by the way Kirika paused dramatically, that the last sentence was not going to Band-Aid the already-bad news they've heard.

"_And_ it's also become a noticed pattern," finalized Kirika, "that at one point or another, tides change between all Three Saplings."


	15. Chapter 15: Encounter

Chapter 15

Encounter

"Tell them about her!" said Audriane.

They were carrying the large bucket of water back toward Etxarren. Being stuck in this position holding onto the handle made it very difficult for Riki to listen to Audriane lecture her.

"No, I'm not gonna endanger a classmate like that," said Riki, her voice taut with the need to remain calm.

"They need to know about her, they need to ask Sir Asher if he knows anything about her. He has resources that answer everything—!"

"I'm not going to the guy who forced us into this shithole," said Riki. "The fact that he threatened Mireille and Kirika, just to _train_ us, says enough about him. He's worse than them. Despite that, we have to play this stupid game if we're going to make it out alive. But that doesn't mean we need to kill Sakuya."

"She _kill_ us," stressed Audriane. They both stopped in their tracks, as she held Riki's gaze. "And if she _isn't_ Sakuya? We risk softness and she stabs us in the backs? LITERALLY!"

Audriane nearly threw both hands in the air, and the bucket lopsided as Riki held on tight, cursing.

"I _know_ it's her—," began Riki.

"I not die because of your lack of evidence. I refuse to die. I learn to fight, I listen to Mireille and Kirika so we walk out here with knowledge and power. Why you not listen to them? Why you not understand that Sakuya brainwashed now?"

"That's stupid," scoffed Riki. "She's smart. Anyone without a brain knows this is all bullshit—."

"SHE. TRIED. TO. KILL. US! She believes in Noir, in power. She not the same classmate you knew, she not some teenager. She a trained killer thanks to the Soldats!"

"I don't believe that anyone would fall easily to the Soldats' notions."

"You not believe anything, you not believe anything anyone says!"

"Says the one who refuses to believe in Sakuya. If you gotta see to believe, then . . ." Riki dropped the bucket; Audriane roared in annoyance as water splashed their feet. "Let's go find Sakuya and hear from her side."

Audriane made a disgusted face at what she was hearing. Then, a dramatic pause, before she said, _"No!"_

"She was really . . . skilled," said Riki slowly. "We could use that to our advantage."

"I not trust anyone but Mireille, Kirika, and you. No one else."

"That's adamant of you."

"It _smart_."

"So is bringing Sakuya to our side—if your claims of her being 'brainwashed' are true." Riki rolled her eyes at that last part.

Audriane could not believe Riki didn't see the problem here with Sakuya. "At least tell Mireille and Kirika! See what they think."

"They'll just tell us to fight for our lives against Sakuya! They were assigned to train us, to worry about just _us_, not Sakuya! You saw the way they talked about 'Third Saplings'?"

"If we not tell them, they shoot her on sight anyway!"

"Well your Japanese certainly is getting better," said Riki dryly, heaving the bucket up.

Audriane grabbed the handle fiercely, almost in defeat. "The one time you thinking about others . . ." she grumbled.

They took large, awkward steps. They still didn't feel any stronger, like Noir insisted they would from carrying the bucket around. In fact, they felt more anchored than ever. Their own lives weren't at stake anymore—so were Mireille and Kirika's . . . and Sakuya's. A whole new bigger burden, a weight on their shoulders. It was confusing how the world once seemed to shrink, revolve, around this simple goal of staying alive. Now it was small in comparison now that they had more people to keep in mind.

"When we return to Etxarren," grunted Audriane, "our sole purpose, our only focus, to be nothing but training. Not Sakuya, not escape. Just survive."

"Audriane . . ." began Riki.

"What?" Then it occurred to Audriane that it wasn't often she heard Riki say her name. She glanced sideways, then went back to focusing on their steps.

"If it's her, we're not leaving this place without Sakuya."

"What make you think she wants to leave? She the Third Sapling—trained by another faction to kill the first two Saplings. Us. She has her own life to worry about. She barely knew you—she not know me. There no point. She their dog."

Riki nearly dropped the bucket at Audriane's feet, turning to face her, face red. "Don't call her that. Don't refer to any of us like that. I refuse to be anyone's pet, fetching, obeying, huddling in a corner with my tail between my legs. I hate the 'dog' metaphor a lot anyway, I've heard it too much in Literature class, so, let's try not to use that metaphor again, ok? And second, you're a hypocrite, you know that? _You're_ the one who wants to stay, not me, the one who wants to become Noir. Despite everything Mireille and Kirika told us, we still know nothing about Noir—and you still goddamn want to stay!"

Audriane's brows hooded her eyes in this dark mask. "At least the difference between Sakuya and I is _I_ want to leave with what Mireille and Kirika taught us. If Sakuya really on our side, she be training side-by-side with us—."

"Apparently the Soldats took her from the school!" argued Riki. "My only guess is that if she couldn't even recognize me, it must mean she didn't realize we survived. Remember when we didn't think anyone we knew survived?"

Audriane snapped, "We stop referring to this woman as if she Sakuya. We not have proof she Sakuya—."

Suddenly they bumped into someone. They grazed by a pair of shoulders, nearly stumbling past the person as they nearly dropped the bucket.

But the stranger caught it. And when she turned around, she was as they last saw her, with the only thing that they remembered her by: the wooden mask. It was lifted up on her forehead, strings keeping it tight around her head and red shawl. Its familiar crescent grin of the Knights smiled back at them.

"Hey, remember me? Sakuya?" she said nervously.

Riki blurted, "It IS you!"

Sakuya frowned apologetically. "Yeah. Look, I'm so sorry about attacking you, I didn't know it was you—."

Riki shoved her. "You're sorry for trying to KILL me—? Shit, is it really you? I knew it was you, but seeing you standing there—I still can't believe . . ." Riki trailed off, clutching her hair in disbelief. "Dammit, what happened? And what the fuck are you wearing, Ghandi?"

Sakuya glanced down at her own white stockings crisscrossed in black strings, which were laced up around the ankles to keep her hemp-soled flats on.

"_Espadrilles,"_ she said. "Tradition, I guess."

Audriane raised her eyebrows. "Whose tradition? The Soldats?"

Sakuya put a hand on her hip. "Who else?" She snorted with a wide grin. Her eyes, so gentle though . . .

Riki gave Sakuya's black vest over the white tunic a flicker. "Shit. Can't believe you were a . . . _student_."

"Same goes for you," said Sakuya neutrally. "Not just appearance-wise, but the way you took me on at the monastery. The way you moved—it was sloppy, but it was still bold. I hope I didn't hurt you."

Riki blurted, "Where the hell did you learn how to fight and throw knives the way you did?"

Sakuya raised her hands defensively. "Look, I'm more worried about starting over and catching up with each other." Something hardened in her eyes, as if that warm blue fire was dying. "We have so much to talk about."

For the first time since Sakuya's appearance, Audriane concurred with a nod. "Yes. _Much_."

She tried to take back the bucket, but Sakuya offered to hold it, leaning awkwardly but confidently to the side as she held it with one arm. She stood between them as they slowly walked back toward Etxarren, at a pace that showed they didn't want to go back.

Sakuya nodded toward Etxarren. "Shall we?"

"I dunno," hesitated Riki. "Mireille and Kirika could kill you on sight."

"I never fought back," exclaimed Sakuya. "When they fired at me, I ran . . . because I finally realized who you were."

Riki shot an "I told you so" glance at Audriane, who stared back with uncertainty. Her hazel eyes glued to Sakuya, with confusion, mistrust, and curiosity.

"Well, you have a lot to explain," said Riki. "We'll hear it when we meet up with Mireille and Kirika—."

BANG!

On instinct, the trio ducked, knees buckled; Riki and Audriane rolled out of the way; like usual, their hearts hammered in their chests. Still weren't used to it.

Mireille walked out from behind trees, her gun parallel to her face.

"What's with everyone popping out of nowhere trying to kill us?" roared Riki. "_You_ nearly killed us!"

"It wasn't you I was aiming for," said Mireille, her gun at Sakuya.

"It's not reassuring when the mentors training you to aim better nearly shoot you!"

"It's not so reassuring either when our trainees are talking to the enemy."

Riki glanced at Sakuya, who she realized, for some funny reason, was still holding the bucket during the ambush. But when Riki heard the trickling of water, she saw the bullet hole in the bucket as Sakuya lifted and observed it.

"How do you know I'm the enemy?" said Sakuya, raising an eyebrow, neither serious nor smirking.

"Cuz you shot your knives at my students," said Mireille.

"_You_ shot at me."

Mireille narrowed her eyes at Riki. "Does _everyone_ like to argue with me?"

Riki grinned. "Why you looking at _me_?"

"Where's Kirika?" blurted Audriane.

On cue, Kirika popped out from a branch, upside-down. One hand pointed a gun at Sakuya, the other held a familiar knife. She was turning it all over.

"Exceptional aim—and fast. I almost didn't see it coming," said Kirika, in a pitch different from that monotonous tone of hers.

Riki glared at Sakuya. "Did you just throw that?"

"They attacked first!" said Sakuya defensively.

Something chilled Riki. She had fought Sakuya face-to-face and got injured so this shouldn't have surprised her. But seeing her speed and accuracy—well, _not_ seeing it—was alarming. After casually bumping into Sakuya like a day at the park, then seeing that Sakuya could have killed Kirika, shifted things in Riki. Seriously, that was _Kirika_ that almost died!

Riki stared as the warm breeze lifted Sakuya's tunic just slightly, revealing a taut, flat stomach, and lots of scars. What had Sakuya been through? If she had disappeared from the school the same time they did, she must have gone through the same amount of training at similar pace like them—right? But what made her different, the Third Sapling? Wait, _was_ she the Third Sapling?

Indeed, they had a lot to discuss. It could change everything they thought they knew about Noir, even from Mireille and Kirika's point of view.

Once Kirika landed on the ground and joined Mireille's side, the two walked toward Sakuya with their guns aimed.

"Let's introduce ourselves," said Mireille.

…

"So you're the Sakuya we heard of?" asked Mireille, crossing her legs at the dining table.

"Heard of?" said Sakuya, looking at Riki.

"You were the last person I saw before shit hit the fan," said Riki, looking at Sakuya as if seeing a ghost.

Sakuya couldn't resist the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "_Awee_, and we barely knew each other!" she said, hand over her heart.

It bothered Noir how relaxed she was in Etxarren, even with their guns pointed at her—Mireille's under the table, Kirika from the doorway.

"Ya know," said Sakuya, frowning, "those guns have been pointed at me since we laid eyes on each other. You're making me nervous."

That last statement pissed Mireille off. "Whatever," she snapped. "Tell us everything you know about the Soldats. What happened to you before, during, and after. Why you're so damn good, this fast, already? Nothing makes sense."

Riki and Audriane leaned in with anticipation, their chests and arms pressing into the edge of the table.

"It's a painful, long story," murmured Sakuya, barely audible.

"I doubt it," said Mireille, her voice flat, but everyone could see the emotion in her eyes.

"As you all know," said Sakuya, exhaling. "The massacre. Everyone in the cafeteria had heard the first gunshot, but no one knew how to react. Few jumped up, others were confused. It's funny how you hear it all the time on TV, but you still don't know it when you're actually experiencing it. After a few gunshots, I felt this hard _punch_, not pain. Then, this burning sensation, like hot sulfur—followed by severe numbness. I remember thinking, _I . . . I got shot!_ I remember falling and landing on something soft. It took me some time to realize I had landed on bodies, on my friends . . ." She paused to collect herself, as if any moment she'd start hyperventilating. "It was so hard to breathe. I was focused on nothing else _but_ that . . ." She clamped her jaw shut, as if remembering something grisly. "My vision was fuzzy by then, but I saw someone aiming their gun at me. I heard the click. All I could think was, 'Breathe! Breathe', even with that gun pointed at my face. I gasped faster and faster, _trying_ to get my lungs to fill with air . . ."

"Who was it that spared you?" asked Mireille.

Riki hissed at her. "She's obviously going through something, don't be insensitive!"

"I dunno," answered Sakuya. "They took me away, doctored me."

"Where?" asked Mireille.

Riki threw another glare. _"Hey."_

"I don't know," repeated Sakuya. "I mean, let's be honest, do you worry about that when drifting in and out of consciousness? I'd been _shot_."

Riki gaped, as if searching for a wound, but she didn't want to be rude or mistaken for perverseness.

"Looks like you recovered fast. How unique," said Mireille.

"The Soldats have the best doctors," said Sakuya.

"You don't specifically remember who was there?" pressed Mireille.

"The ones who took me away? Men in black."

"Soldats, they're all the same." Mireille paused, watching Sakuya's face. "But something's not right here. You're giving us answers awfully fast. Easy-breezy, just like that?"

"I'll answer fair questions, _fairly_," said Sakuya carefully.

Riki watched the whole interrogation intensely, especially Sakuya, with wide eyes.

"Then answer this," said Mireille. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why answer everything? That's not . . . Soldatsy."

"Because . . . I was ordered to."

Mireille feigned a cheery smile. "_That's_ the Soldats I know."

"So," said Kirika, switching legs to lean on against the door, "you _are_ the Third Sapling?"

Sakuya made a face. "I think so."

"Oh please—what the hell does that mean?" said Mireille.

"Well . . . I was told I wasn't supposed to be. I've always asked why, but no one will tell me."

After fidgeting in her seat wondering where Sakuya stood in all of this, Riki pushed away from the table and stood up. "Do your superiors even know you're here?"

"Sort of," replied Sakuya.

"You came on your own accordance?" asked Kirika.

"For the most part."

"So why are you here?" asked Mireille.

Sakuya looked at Riki. "I wanted to apologize to Riki. I thought I seriously injured her after realizing it was her."

"Why _didn't_ you apologize?" grumbled Mireille, eyebrow raised.

"Uh, because you would've _shot_ me? I don't plan on _that_ ever again," snorted Sakuya. But what started as sarcasm became a fit of giggles.

"You're definitely not your typical student," said Mireille, with disdain. She looked at Riki and Audriane. "These other two, on the other hand, were very scared that day, and have been ever since. Naturally. But you. You are definitely the Third Sapling, the way you smile."

Sakuya glowered. "You don't know what I've been through."

Mireille finally brought out her gun from under the table, but sat it on the table in front of her as if casually holding a fork, pointed at Sakuya. "You're not eerie like most Thirds, but I'm still gonna be cautious around you. These are my students, I don't trust their safety with you."

Sakuya folded her arms. "Don't like Thirds, huh?"

Mireille said nothing.

Kirika lowered her gun, however. "So, what now?"

"Good question," grumbled Audriane. "Can we get back to training?"

"You should," said Sakuya stringently. "We have a lot ahead of us."

"Thirds—so knowing, yet so secretive," muttered Mireille.

"Well, _everyone_ knows about the Trials," said Sakuya, flashing her a look. "Everyone who knows about Noir and the Soldats, that is."

Sakuya finally stood up, ignoring the two guns trained on her. She walked to the door, smiling her gratitude to Kirika. "Thanks for the hospitality," she said.

Kirika smiled back. It was small, but it was warming. It definitely earned a scowl from Mireille.

"You're gonna leave, just like that?" said Riki, slowly following Sakuya. "You should stay. I mean, it's a . . . high school reunion." She laughed dryly at herself. "Not the kind I imagined, but . . . I'm glad you're ok. We're all glad you're ok."

Everyone else looked at each other, but nodded respectively. Sakuya returned Riki's lingering eyes with a wide smile. "You too, Riki." She hesitated, before adding, "Let me know if you need help in training."

"Sorry, but that's _my_ money," said Mireille jokingly. She grinned wide, as if the Third's departure was the only time she'd show happiness. "Your job is to let these two win the Trials."

"Sorry, but that's _my_ life," said Sakuya, returning the smile.

Riki gawked. "So you know about what the Trials are gonna do to us? And that doesn't _bother_ you?"

This was where Audriane tried to read where Sakuya stood in all of this. She glared at Sakuya, as if expecting a negative answer that would reinforce her suspicions.

Sakuya didn't answer.

"Really? You're in this, too?" whispered Riki. "Please no. This isn't our place, among adults' bullshit games."

"We're not children anymore," said Sakuya.

"I don't understand," said Audriane, glaring at Sakuya. "You didn't know it was us you were targeting. But you know about the Trials. So why is it that you sound like you're not backing down?"

Sakuya frowned, almost in shame. "I . . . I dunno. People do crazy things when they're scared, when they have nothing else . . ."

"They didn't tell you, did they?" said Riki. "Whoever ordered you to attack us. They didn't explain your mission, right? What was it exactly they said—?"

"Forget it, kid," said Mireille. "She belongs to the Soldats, now."

"Shut up!" snapped Riki, not even looking at Mireille. "You of all people have no place in this conversation—!"

"Yes, we do," whispered Kirika. That small voice always found its way in all their noise. "Riki, we understand your pain. But the Third is something else."

Riki paid Kirika little mind, her eyes still lost in Sakuya's. "You haven't lost _everything_," she told her.

"They killed my family," blurted Sakuya.

Silence.

"I saw it on the news. My father, running for mayor, his death was broadcasted. My mother's, in our Washington house, from a 'home invasion'. Their bodies were identified, our relatives declared _me_ 'missing'. Our school security didn't catch any footage of the men taking me away—."

"Bet the Soldats did that—," interrupted Mireille.

"At least both your families are alive. I checked," said Sakuya. The sudden news was overwhelming for Riki and Audriane, whose eyes shined at the mention of their families.

"How did you gain access to all of that information about their families?" asked Kirika.

Pause. "The Soldats told me," said Sakuya.

No one knew what to say that, as if "Soldats" was the same answer expected in every dialogue.

Mireille and Kirika didn't believe much what the Soldats did, but their guts did tell them that it was probably true about the children's families. Didn't mean they'd be safe for long, however. The Soldats were probably keeping an eye on the families, in case Riki and Audriane or Noir did anything they didn't like . . .

"The ones taking care of me aren't bad people," murmured Sakuya.

"What was that?" snarled Mireille. When Sakuya repeated herself, Mireille waved her gun at her. "Get out. This is your last chance before the force of our bullets kick you out that door."

Sakuya turned to leave. But before she walked away, she said over her shoulders, "Just be careful. Soldats are everywhere."


	16. Chapter 16: Preparations

**Author's Note: **some eerie-build-up-tension music from our good ol' Yuki Kajiura: "Echoes": watch?v=4EHP1f1qnOw

Chapter 16

Preparations

"So we know so far that there are three factions out there," said Mireille. "Sir Asher's, the one providing for us but also beating us in the dirt mockingly like a horse for the big race . . ."

"Then there's Sakuya's faction," added Kirika. "They don't like what Asher has done with 'the new Noir', so they got to Sakuya before we could, just to play her against us. It jeopardizes our chances of getting out of this devil's contract."

Mireille sighed. "And then there's the Third Faction that Sakuya supposedly warned us about. It could be the one from the school. We need to find out everything we can about them. If what she said is true—which is hard for me to decide on—then for now, we've definitely need to worry about them."

"Are they the men that followed us to Europe?" asked Audriane.

"Huh?" asked Mireille.

"After . . . school, we were followed all the way to here." Audriane stared. "_Did_ you know whose men they were?"

Mireille was devoid of expression. "Doesn't matter. They're all the same to me, every last one of them."

Kirika gave a thoughtful nod to both girls' statements. "She's right, though, Mireille. Let's just say those men following us to Europe were never Asher's. Maybe it's not smart to dismiss them so easily, as if they're all one entity—we need to pay attention to detail. Who followed us, who talked to us, who we killed, who is on whose side. We need to differentiate one faction from another."

"Do you know anything about anyone from those different factions?" asked Riki.

"Right," agreed Audriane. "we know nothing about our enemy. We not know where they come from!"

Kirika nodded. "In order to do so, we need to research. We need access to all kinds of information. We need internet."

Hearing that word seemed to make it even more fairytale and nonexistent than it already was. A reminder that there was a world beside this one; as this sunk in, Audriane looked at her surroundings, at the interior of the Etxarren.

Her eyes lit. "Assassins cannot do their jobs without some form of communication, yes? They need email and phone calls and associates—messengers—to know what and who they up against, to strategize, to prepare for!"

Riki caught on. "I think you're onto something, there. Ha. I knew a fashion Barbie like _this_ one couldn't last a day out here without some connection to the modern world." She jeered at Mireille at that last statement. "So is that why you lied to us about being so far from civilization?"

"We never actually said anything like that," retorted Mireille. "I dunno where the hell you thought that one up."

"Ok, well, that's not the point," growled Riki. "Point is, we're useless and defenseless out here without any access to internet, without _information_. We gotta go to Laguardia, find a damn library, and dig up files on what factions exist out there. If you have any contacts, _any_, who may know a smidge about the Soldats, call them."

Mireille blinked. "Wow. The one who talks is actually talking sense."

"So," pondered Audriane, "all this time, we weren't kept in the Etxarren just for isolation and safe training—."

"'Safe', ha—!" blurted Riki.

"But to also keep _all_ of us from going anywhere, from technology," said Kirika, frowning to the realization.

Audriane nodded firmly in understanding. "Yes. You and Mireille prisoners, like us. The Soldats not want you to have access to technology in case you betrayed them, so they kept you here with us. That why Shirihime brought her doctors and ammunition with her to us? So we did not feel the need to go anywhere to replenish?"

Mireille closed her eyes, growling, "It appears so."

"Huh, and you made it sound like they were doing it out of the goodness of their hearts," laughed Riki.

"At least now we have _some_ seed of a plan," said Kirika.

"I hate to say this," said Mireille, "but without permission from our divine Sir Asher, we cannot go anywhere. Not with his men watching our every moves. Not until he assigns us our first mission."

"And that's not till he thinks we're ready?" said Audriane.

Riki's face tensed with ambition. "So we train and take on another 'Trial' or 'mission'. You said so yourselves that Noir once served the people, protected the innocent. And where are there _people_? In Laguardia. He'll definitely assign us to go there."

Kirika held her chin thoughtfully. "It's a lot to cover: training, researching, eliminating eavesdroppers, and of course the other two factions. We're going to have to juggle each—."

There was a frustrated roar as Audriane threw her arms up. "Let's just get started, ok! No planning, no thinking! Stop talking—and start training us! NOW!"

Before Riki realized it, she was pounding her fist into her palm, grinning. "Now _there's_ something we can agree on! The Soldats want their Noir?" Riki was shaking so violently, no one could tell if she was angry or just excited. "They want our body and soul? I'll give them my _fist_—and the soul of a demon they've never dreamt of breeding."

There was a warm, slightly high-pitched sound. Everyone turned to Mireille bubbling with laughter, leaning against the dining room wall.

"I'm sorry, I needed that," she said, fanning herself, smiling, wiping tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry, it's . . . it's just good to see so much hatred. Now I understand what they meant by 'only hatred can save'." She snorted to herself.

Kirika's expression sank. "That's not funny, Mireille, and you know that."

Mireille shook her head, her smile fading but no less weak. "I know, Kirika. I'm just saying, it's good to see some spirit around here."

Riki made a flat face. "You're one to talk."

Audriane snorted; Kirika smirked, which earned her a teasing from Mireille.

Mireille looked at Riki victoriously, as if she'd already finished her training. "Hold on to that enthusiasm to push forward. One day it'll help you aim well. Who knows, maybe one day, you'll get to shoot me, like you've always dreamed of."

"Now don't go begging there just yet," said Riki playfully. "That day, I'll be so good, I won't need you—the same punching bag—to beat anymore. I'll have other things to punch the living crap outta."

Kirika and Audriane had expected murder to follow, but Mireille shooed it off by waving the teenagers off. "Go play like good little children. Handstands and guns 'n all."

….

"I daresay, I am quite impressed with their bravery," said Asher, drinking a glass of Rioja wine. "They went through hell—now they just need to go to hell _and_ back. With these Trials coming up, it will make them Noir. Once they learn how to fight. _Properly_."

"They _are_ showing progress," said Shirihime. "I've been going back and forth delivering their ammo, along with Stefan, watching them shoot and fight. They're even learning how to fire mounted on a horse."

"That _is_ impressive for girls their age and inexperience."

"It's been quite nice of you to give them breathing room, for them to recover."

"Well, I'll admit, we gave them hellfire for the first few weeks. I can't have them dying on us _that_ soon."

"You were right about some things, my Lord," said Shirihime. "They have proven to be quite an interesting factor in the Trials. Yumura and Bouquet have grown up all their lives knowing about Noir and Soldats—but these two . . . they were once familiar with one world, only to discover that they lived in a different one. I would like to believe they never belonged out there . . ."

"They _needed_ us, to show them who they really are. We've watched them being one person, then becoming someone different. It is . . . _so_ rewarding, and fills my heart with joy to watch them grow. It's like watching my own children."

"One day they'll be grateful, Sir, whether they will come to admit it or not."

"Huh. The fate of Noir, the identity, the power—no one can resist it. Even those who fear it. Like this one."

They turned their attention back to their guest, a man whimpering in the corner of the wine cellar. Wine barrels were knocked over, the blood-like liquid mixing with the guest's blood—from the struggle moments ago, when he tried to ambush them out of an empty wine barrel.

Nearby, a Knight wearing latex gloves shook the blood off his knuckles, awaiting further orders.

Shirihime offered, "Wine, sir? It's Rioja, the best in this region." She kneeled in front of the man, his face pink and bruised, mottled like swelling sausage. He said nothing; Shirihime frowned. "Your faction knows about Noir. You know about Noir. You know the risks in _knowing_ about Noir—and yet you refuse to talk. We'd hate for the tourists to find you down here. So, you could tell us _who_ sent those men at the school. What do they want with Noir? What else are they after?"

From the corner of his mouth, he drooled ribbons of blood. He slumped his head against the stone wall, wheezing and gasping. Hands and wrists contorted in different directions, back arched.

"Maybe if his jaw wasn't disabled, we'd understand his zombie moaning," said Stefan, standing in the doorway.

"Well. Fix him, so he starts singing again," ordered Shirihime coolly.

"It'll take a while. Maybe simmer down on the torture?" said Stefan, smiling solemnly.

"He nearly killed our Lord. I protect my own." Shirihime turned to face their guest. "You don't know how much my Lord means to me. No, of course you don't. You don't even know the meaning of loyalty, of love."

She gestured to the same Knight, who came over holding a pear-shaped metal contraption.

"Yes, let's test you on your loyalty. You seem to favor your words, or your _lack_ of—and your jaw." Shirihime had the Knight show their prisoner the device. "It seems fitting we're in a Medieval setting. See here, this is called 'the Pear of Anguish'. Back then, it tortured women accused of self-abortions, and homosexuals and blasphemers, and liars. Be grateful it doesn't apply to other . . . certain body parts—that you're just a mere liar. Liars will be punished accordingly . . ."

The Knight unscrewed the jagged star-shaped handle—and four metal petals bloomed like a flower. She assumed that if her guest's eyes weren't so battered, they would have widened at the sight. Yet, he whimpered, and seemed to understand what he was seeing.

"It's ok, it's not fatal, but it _will_ tear your jaw muscles," admonished Shirihime. "Now, this is Noir's first time to Laguardia, a rare gem in the Basque Country. I want it to be an unforgettable experience for them, so I can't have so much blood on these floors that it'll be hard to scrub.

"So first thing's first," she added, accepting a pistol from the Knight. "Tell us who we're up against. I know they already have someone here, somewhere. Either it's the spy that's been spilling our location and Noir's, or someone else who just arrived. Who is it? I won't have them—." Shirihime suddenly shot him in the kneecap. "—Inflicting any damage—." His shrieks seeming to scratch the very air and stone corridors, like nails on a chalkboard. "—On my Trials." She pressed her finger into the bullet wound in his knee.

"We need him to _talk_, remember?" said Asher. He turned to exit. "Update me if he talks about anything else. _Anything_. I need to visit some friends. Maybe they'll know where it's gone. And Stefan, make sure he stays alive. Enough, at least."

"Yes, Sir Asher," said the doctor, flinching. He ordered another Knight, "Escort him back home."

After lord and servant left, Stefan looked back at Shirihime. "Make it quick. We can't afford anyone hearing him, here." Stefan paused, then asked, "Is there a reason you're not the one holding that instrument? Is it because of the power—because you can simply order someone else to do it? Or is it because you don't want to do it yourself?"

"Let someone else do your dirty work," she said. "But in all seriousness, it's not like I enjoy it. You know as much as I do that we do what we must in this world—in THIS world."

"Well . . . you don't expect me to watch, do you?" asked Stefan, frowning. "I already have to see him when you finish."

"You're dismissed. I'd rather you check on Noir to make sure they are doing as told."

Stefan nodded, and left.

Shirihime looked back at her prisoner. "I hate this, I really do," she whispered. "But you're human, right? You have a person you love, that you'd do anything for? You'd protect your own? Leaving out politics and Soldat notions—you have _someone_, right? So you understand why I am doing this."

He gurgled, the sound of choking water. "You . . . are no Soldat . . .!"

"Do not worry about what I am or who I am. Or about your life. I have use for you. You're gonna help with the preparations."

She nodded to the Knight.


	17. Chapter 17: Stone

**Author's Note: **peaceful music that sounds like it belongs in the mountains: "Bonfire" watch?v=4rjDMdqPe6U

Chapter 17

Stone

Sakuya had just read on the library computers about the deaths of her parents. The school massacre. The aftermath. It was too much. Even though that had happened weeks ago, even though the Soldats had told her her family was dead—all the memories suddenly came back. Fast like death, but cutting slow and deep, like a knife. She had cried enough, and couldn't afford to cry anymore.

As she headed toward the exit, she pulled her turtleneck up. Just as she was about to walk outside, someone called to her.

_"Arreba, arreba!" _

She turned around, a bright orange flash coming toward her. She lifted her arms, ready for the blow.

Two little girls; they slowed down to make sure to be gentle, and fitted right into her arms.

Sakuya threw on a smile. "Reading books again? Where's your mother?"

But of course the twins couldn't understand her. They never had, ever since she woke up in their house, with them peering down at her for the first time. Back on that night, a night after a series of heinous nights. Days and nights of surviving her own set of the Trials.

"C'mon, let's go find your mother. _Tu madre_," she said in the limited Spanish she remembered from high school. She gently steered them into the direction of their cottage on the outskirts of the walls.

But as she walked them along, she felt Lore's puny hand slip into hers; how small and fragile. Arrosa grabbed her hand other hand. They weren't expressive children, but whenever they looked up to her expectantly with piercing beady eyes, it said a lot, and yet she didn't know why.

The three of them walked through Mayor Plaza, the town center with walls strung with imperial coats of arms from Charles the Fifth's reign. They passed a row of archways to a long, flat building, with various European flags flapping across its front. Tourists were scanty, but those that were there on the street were whispering in excitement. Couples, families, friends . . . not many of them by themselves in this world. Pointing, gawking, admiring the different yellows, grays, and browns of the stone town, especially its famous wine restaurants.

Two tourists, a blonde and her tan Asian friend, turned around and saw Sakuya and the girls. The blonde came over and lifted up her camera as if to say something, her eyes lighting up to the children.

"May we?" asked the tourist. American.

The twins weren't too shy, smiling, as if that was the one strict thing their mother taught them to do in the presence of others. But they stayed by Sakuya's side as the tourist leaned in with her camera.

Sakuya looked down at the twins uncertainly. "Um . . ."

"Oh, sorry! We're traveling and trying to update our blogs to our followers on a daily basis, about the places and people we see—your children were so adorable, I just _had_ to—um, do you speak English?"

"Yeah," said Sakuya.

"Oh good, I didn't know where you were from. Sorry for the stalking with the camera—oh, may I ask where?"

"Hm?"

"Where do you live? Your ethnicity? American? Asian? Spanish? I can't tell." The tourist panicked. "Oh, do you live here? I'm sorry for assuming—!"

Sakuya budged a smile. "I'm half-American, half-Japanese. A bit of Spanish," she said. "My father . . . lived in Tokyo . . . my mother in Washington."

"Wow! Well, you're _very_ pretty!" exclaimed the woman as politely as she could. She aimed her camera at Lore and Arrosa. "Is it ok?"

Sakuya looked down at the twins, who looked up at her without any reaction. Just when she thought they didn't understand, they looked back at the tourist and smiled timidly, twisting their torsos, looking away or sometimes curiously at the camera and the tourists. After the woman finished, she waved her gratitude and returned to her friend. They walked off, staying close to the right side of the skinny street, browsing for wine bars.

How nice to speak with her familiar language. Ever since getting familiar with these streets, Sakuya had run into plenty of tourists attracted to the military history and wine sampling of the town of Laguardia. Many tourists were mostly American, but the occasional group of Japanese or Chinese friends came along, and she found comfort in both.

She didn't exactly mind not being able to speak fluent Spanish, especially with Lore and Arrosa, but then again, wish she could. They weren't always easy to boss around when she felt they were wandering too far. She definitely remembered her familial terms and Spanish commands from high school, like "para!" or "mira!" or "eschucame!" or "camina!" It was enough to keep them by her side whenever they wandered into shops, off-site cemeteries, alleys, or staircases . . .

But Laguardia was a small town with high walls and narrow streets. It was grand enough to be exciting, but small enough to know where places were, who people were, where they lived.

And for the Trials.

"You're lucky this place isn't big," said Sakuya, even though the twins couldn't understand her. "C'mon, let's not worry your mother. _Casa_."

The children never complained or ignored her. They'd balance across stone curbs against Laguardia's dying yellow-ochre walls, or play tag behind bike racks; they'd touch the bouquet stands or pottery set up along the streets, or get distracted by window displays or the common sight of wine barrels outside of restaurants and stores, which probably reminded them of their stone house. But they always caught up with Sakuya.

The three of them ambled down a slight hill. After passing under a building through an arched tunnel, Sakuya looked up to the surrounding close-knit buildings. A looming maze of stone and history, with cobblestone streets narrow like alleys—that not a single car was allowed to drive through the walled-in town. Windows, with small ebony railings and shelves drooping with vegetation, all over every building from head to toe, so close to each other, that neighbors could open their windows and easily hear each other in conversational volume from across the street.

She looked down at the gray cobblestone, which was flatter here than other lumpier streets in the walled-in town. Such artwork. Ancient, since the thirteenth century. A survivor. Just like Sakuya. Stone. Just like Sakuya. She needed to be stone.

But before they could continue back home, Arrosa tapped Sakuya's arm and pointed up, blurting in Spanish. Most times, she spoke and understood a good amount Spanish, yet Sakuya has heard her speak in an unknown language.

Regardless, this time, Sakuya knew she was talking about: the town hall.

Its pendulum clock struck noon. Three festive figurines popped out, flouncing and dancing, jerking in place. Two were men, one in a red hat and white traditional garments, the other in his night cap and pajamas; the third figure, a woman in a frilly, yet simple dress. The clockwork was black and intricate with grape vines, stars, and circus-like figurines in the backdrop.

The children's favorite thing to see whenever in town.

The clock reminded Sakuya of three Three Saplings. Or how the streets were a great way for Noir to navigate—or get trapped and chased, as desired. How the straight-forward streets and alleys, countless archways and gardens, would provide shelter or ambushes. The dimly-lit underground wine cellars, perfect for surprises, challenges in the dark. The connected rooftops of Laguardia would become their stairs; the unstable, unpredictable roof shingles would provide advantage _and_ disadvantages for both Noir and the Knights of the Soldats. Any of these features could save or kill a person . . .

_Not now._ Sakuya wanted to focus on the girls.

She quizzed them to read what time the clock said, and they answered in tiny, but vigorous voices. The silliness of it distracted her from the Trials.

_"Camina,"_ hastened Sakuya, twisting and winding through networks of streets. You could never walk a whole street without another building at the end of it; you were delightfully trapped. It had taken her a week or so to memorize where to go.

They finally turned into a private driveway between two buildings, passing some fattened bushes and a faded green statue of a young girl, her head in a bandana, tilted to the side, holding a vase. On their right, doors and small windows sloped with their ascent toward one of the gates leading outside the walls.

"Lore, Arrosa, _aqui_!" ordered Sakuya.

The twins tittered and galloped at random beats in front of her, but they stayed close. They led the shortcut to one of Laguardia's five gates, which were two meters high, thick and topped by battlemented parapet that people once were able to walk around.

This gate had two walls slanted toward them, with heavily ornamented doors opened. A shelf was carved into the parapet, with a decorated Virgin Mary inside. Like many times before, going in and out of Laguardia, the twins prayed to the Mary statue. They said what Sakuya assumed was "the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen", the way they touched their forehead, chest, and shoulders.

They passed through the gate. It was nothing but open space out here—fields, vineyards, strips of trees, veins of dirt roads here and there. Farm cottages dotted the land surrounding the town on the hill. But the girls' house was behind Laguardia, pressed against the Cantabrians. It was a fifteen-minute trek up the mountainside.

"I can't believe your parents let you roam to and fro," whispered Sakuya, as she watched the brave seven-year-olds hop from rock to rock along the way, ranting to each other in their language.

"_Etxea, etxea!"_ shouted Arrosa, pointing ahead.

There was no mistaking the meaning of that word after hearing it every day since the family took Sakuya in.

Home.

A doddering stone house. Wide and massive, with a muddy color to it, accompanied by green door-sized windows and traditional smaller ones at the top, like peeping holes. Half of the front was white, the other half bit peeled off, revealing an orange-yellowish hue. The lower half was nothing but rows of perfectly fitted stone. There was a single tiny hole, of what would be called a window, on either side of the front door in the middle.

_Etxea_.

Her only home since the school massacre.

_"Etxea!"_ repeated Arrosa, skipping and humming a tuneless sound. Her sister straggled, plucking flowers lining the side of the road, wiping the dirt off her jeans. She tucked the flowers into her breastpocket, as if to match the simple designs on her orange blouse. Sakuya never had siblings, yet was content with just this—

She saw movement in the windows. She squinted. Froze. A sniper.

Then, the familiar click of a gun. She stopped in her tracks, and looked sideways. Behind one of the boulders, just to her right, was a man in black.

"Just stand there, and you won't alarm your little ones," he said.

Sakuya looked back at the oblivious children ahead of her. She glared at the sniper in the window. Dread sank in her veins, her heart: were their parents alive?

The man in the black suit kept his gun on her. He touched his ear, cheek pressed against his shoulder, and spoke into it. "Not yet," he commanded.

The sniper withdrew his gun, but only slightly.

"You won't shoot me," said Sakuya.

"Not if we have to. Orders—."

"_No_, because I'm Noir."

He chuckled. "You're confident like Noir, I'll give you that."

"I'm going to assume you're from that _other_ faction."

"Just please cooperate, and your little ones won't even know what's going on."

"Let's keep it that way," said Sakuya, glaring. "You can remove your sniper, now. Where are the parents?"

"They're inside. One wrong move, and my men will kill them."

"Well, what do you want?"

"You're coming with us. You were supposed to be with us in the first place. Please. No one needs to get hurt."

"Oh really."

He cautiously stepped toward her, then, stood next to her, casually, gun pressed into her back. "Keep going. We'll negotiate inside."

"Just _take_ me already. The family has nothing to do with this."

"It's not you we're negotiating with. It's the man inside."

"Their father?"

"Shuddap, and just walk—."

_"Arreba!"_

The children had turned around to make sure she was still with them. When they saw the Knight next to her, they froze. Sakuya's heart galloped. She forced a smile and waved at them, shouting, _"Un amigo!"_ They looked at him strangely, as children most often do near strangers, but continued to walk. Sakuya and the Knight walked side by side like friends, and followed them the inside Extea.

_"Amak, Aita!"_ chorused the children.

They ran into the kitchen, right into their mother's arms—who was guarded by two Knights, who leaned against the kitchen sink. When Sakuya and her captor walked in, she exchanged a worried glance with the mother.

_I'm sorry, Elixabete._

Elixabete stared back, shaking with what could have been fear and rage altogether. She squeezed tight onto her children, didn't want to let them go. However, the Knights told her to tell her daughters to play in the backyard.

When Sakuya was ordered to stand by the small kitchen table, she noticed the father Xabier sitting there. And next to him, a friend of his. He was a bearded man that visited the family on a daily basis. She was never around the Etxea too much to care about him, since he always seemed to be done talking with Xabier whenever she walked in.

He seemed calm—despite the fact that the two Knights sitting across from him and Xabier had guns hidden under the table, pointed at them. This enraged Sakuya. She felt dazed, her heart a beast in her chest, her vision going fuzzy and black. She had felt this before. Couldn't afford emotions to take over logic . . .

Finally, Sakuya's captor, obviously the leader, spoke. But not in Spanish or English. Not even French. Back and forth with Xabier and his friend. It started off calm, but gradually rose to something else. They were now arguing. And it wasn't just Xabier talking—in fact, it was mostly his friend who did most of the talking. He seemed calm, Xabier not. It only made sense that the calmer person should handle the situation. Sakuya really regretted not getting to know him, for she appreciated his bravery. If she could, she'd find a chance to talk with him about an escape plan, but then realized she didn't know their language.

After a good five minutes, the head Knight looked to Sakuya. "You're with us. Negotiation's over."

Sakuya stared back at Xabier and Elixabete. The woman was whimpering into her hands, tear-eyed the whole time. Her husband exchanged a nervous glance with his friend with the calm demeanor.

"Say your good-byes," said the lead Knight.

Sakuya couldn't tell whether to feel betrayed or heartfelt at the separation. Xabier looked her hard in the eye one last time, before bowing his head and staring at his folded hands on the table. Elixabete choked in a sob, but her eyes followed Sakuya devotedly as she left through the back door.

_"Arreba!"_ It was Arrosa, who was sitting on top of a smaller house molded into the backside of the Etxea. She and her sister always secretly climbed up that little storage house behind their parents' back, a secret Sakuya cherished.

Lore, on the ground, was the first to run down the slope from the storage house to the backdoor Sakuya came through. She gave Sakuya the pinkish-white flower from her breastpocket, ignoring the Knight.

Sakuya placed her hand on Lore's head. "I have to go, now," she said, smiling weakly.

Lore beamed, not understanding. But when Sakuya walked up the mountainside, the little girl understood. She ran to catch up with them, speaking in Spanish mixed with that unknown language. Either way, she realized Sakuya couldn't understand, and spoke more hastily, confused.

From the storage house, Arrosa called after Sakuya. She ran to the wall that joined the two buildings together, and climbed down the corner on a trail of jutting bricks and stone.

"Better tell your friends off," said the Knight. "Before I do."

Sakuya was this close to knocking backwards into him, but she contained herself. She called over her shoulders, _"Adios! Hasta manana!"_ For some weird reason, she felt pathetic, not just over her minimal bilingual skills, but just total shame in herself overall.

Her captor flinched. "Man, your Spanish . . .!"

Instead of being offended, it only spiked her curiosity. "What language was that you were speaking?"

"What, you haven't figured it out already—you were just in a _tourist_ attraction!"

"Was it Basque? They mostly spoke Spanish around me, but I've heard it every now and then. All the stores were in Spanish, but I'd see words on signs that were foreign to me."

"Yeah."

"Are _you_ Basque?"

"Yeah. I gots some in me."

"You'd aim a gun at your own people?"

He said nothing.

"Who _are_ the Basques?"

"Ancient. Don't worry, all will come together, in time."

"_Arreba?"_ The twins stood side by side, but hadn't moved from their spot. They still called after her, as if expecting her to run back to them on whim. Sakuya looked back at them, trying to find the strength to smile. She waved, and her heart shattered. She was always strong, but not like this.

"You did the right thing," said the Knight, poking her with his pistol to continue upward. "Now, into the woods, you go."

"Where we going?"

"Miles away from here, I promise you that."

So Sakuya waited.


	18. Chapter 18: Conflicted

Chapter 18

Conflicted

"I can't believe it, how far you've improved," said Kirika. "You can now do a front-flip, and fire a gun. Not bad. Not bad at all."

Riki and Audriane smiled at each other, wiping their guns. They were back on the little "porch" on the side of Etxarren, the board sticking out from the window, door, whatever it was. Kirika sat behind them in the plastic chair.

"I'm sure Shirihime would be so proud," chortled Riki.

Audriane huffed in agreement. They both rolled their eyes. Not at each other, but with each other. That was definitely something, in Kirika's eyes.

"So, how would you two assess your teamwork?" asked Kirika.

"Uh," began Riki, raising an eyebrow at Kirika, who beamed. She then glanced at Audriane, who looked like she didn't want to disappoint the kind of smile they didn't see often from Kirika.

"I guess we're good," said Riki, shrugging, giving Audriane a crooked smile.

Her partner sighed dramatically. "At least sound like you're _not_ in pain when you say it."

Riki threw her hands up defensively. "What, did you want me to confess my love to you or something?"

Audriane said nothing, closing one eye as she aimed her gun toward the ground. For some reason, Riki felt offended by this, but said nothing. She knew neither of them had forgotten their first talk about Sakuya—whom they've only seen once in a while throughout their training. Sakuya would appear and offer tips in target practice, but their trainers, especially Audriane, rebuked her presence. This made Riki's time with her little and precious, not just because she taught her how to fare in combat, but because . . . well, she was the last genuine memory she could remember from high school, even though they'd been near-strangers. In some sad way, Riki felt closer to her than to Audriane, her own partner.

But Riki brushed it aside, basking in the reassurance of knowing she was able to protect herself from now on. Kirika's pat-on-the-back was confirmation of their skills, of their chance to survive.

Audriane fired a single shot at the ground. There was a yelp down below; the trio leaned over and saw that Mireille had been walking by with a bucket of carrots for the horse.

"Who in the . . .!" yelled Mireille.

Riki gasped, with smiling eyes, clapping Audriane on the back. "You did _not_ just do that, did ya?"

Audriane ducked her head between her shoulders like a scared turtle. "Sorry!"

"Hey you, you trigger-happy hot-shots up there, I coulda shot back!" shouted Mireille. "Don't you get boastful on the battlefield! I'd be damned if you died from cockiness."

"The only one dying from cockiness is that Shirihime woman at the cock of my gun," boomed Riki, twirling the gun by its trigger with her finger.

"Careful!" said Audriane, leaning away. "And don't hurt Shirihime. She's our source of ammunition, and supplies, and medicine—."

"No, _Stefan_ provides the medicine." Riki paused. "Haven't seen him in a while. He's a sight for sore eyes compared to that witch. Last time she was here, she shoved my face in the dirt in one of our spars. And she kept calling you 'Audriane Adrenaline'. And she just stands there and watches us train. Mumbles her dark things. It's creepy. It's annoying."

"Everything about her is annoying," said Mireille, who came back out of the barn. Riki snorted in agreement. "I can't believe we've let her live this long."

"Um, I think it's the other way around, Riki," said Kirika.

"Whatever. Her time will come, that's a promise."

"Speaking of which. Hey Kirika," said Audriane, looking to the Japanese admiring the lake. "When you think we be assigned our first mission? Do you think we ready?"

"Um . . ." hesitated Kirika. "I'm not sure. You've become better marksmen, but . . . you still haven't gained a lot of _experience_. Putting yourselves to the real test, real fights."

"_Real_ fights? You're shitting me, right?" snarled Riki. "That's _all_ we've been doing even before we got here! They shoulda made us Noir from the get-go!"

"That'd be nice," said Mireille, who had leaned against the Etxarren below their window board. "We'd all be out of here."

"With that said," began Riki, "what's the plan? And how the hell do we get to Laguardia? The horse isn't enough for the four of us, even if two shared it at a time."

"You've been there half-way and back," said Mireille bluntly. "Lead the way."

Riki, sitting on the edge, leaned forward and dropped her head between her legs, glaring at Mireille on the ground. "Come up here and say that to my face! You know you're the reason why we had no choice and ran!"

Kirika snapped, "That's enough you two."

"You need to grow up," agreed Audriane, elbowing Riki, who almost fell off the board.

"Hey, careful, Dupont!"

"Riki, if they were really bad people, we be dead," said Audriane.

"Oh, what's a little bit of height?" taunted Mireille, stepping out from underneath the board. She looked up at the three of them. "Come down here, and show off some stunts you've learned."

"Don't beg," said Riki, grinning. "Don't make me move you up to the top of my hit list when I already have Shirihime and Asher and every single Soldat there, first."

"I mean it," hollered Mireille, spreading her arms. "Open fire."

Riki lied on her back, head nestled in her arms. "You're not worth soiling a bullet."

Audriane looked over her shoulders at Kirika. "They're a lot alike, aren't they?"

Kirika giggled ever so slightly. "Yeah, you're right. Really, I wouldn't worry about Mireille. She acts like this all the time. You should have seen her when I first met her."

"Really? Now this is a story I ought to hear," said Riki.

"Wait, what?" called Mireille.

Audriane asked, "How you guys meet anyway? I'm trying to imagine two assassins like yourselves meeting." She swung her legs back onto the board, crossed them, and leaned against her cheeks like a child listening to bedtime story.

"She was harsh," whispered Kirika, enjoying the fact that Mireille couldn't hear them. "She didn't trust me. But we grew to understand each other. She's nice, she just doesn't know it yet."

"Is that so?" said Riki.

"She's a good person—even you know that, Riki."

Riki rolled her eyes. "Doesn't mean she doesn't piss me off."

Audriane slapped Riki's arm. "It's obvious that Kirika cares about Mireille. Don't insult her kindness by insulting Mireille."

"She's a _good_ person," emphasized Kirika. "You don't know what she's been through." There was a change in her posture, in her eyes, that Riki shut her mouth.

"KIRIKA, I mean it, what are you telling them?" shouted Mireille.

Kirika crawled to the edge of the board. "Just telling them how awful you were to me back then!"

"Oh—_she_ can insult the blonde, not me?" huffed Riki.

Audriane glared. "_I'm_ blonde!"

"You are _so_ dirty-blonde!"

"What did she say about blondes?" yelled Mireille.

Riki rolled over like a log, till she was peeking over the edge. "We were just starting a club called Blondes Are Royal Douche Bags—I mean Dutchesses!"

There was a gunshot before she could finish. Riki yelped, rolling away from the edge, then instantly pulled out her gun and fired. This sent Audriane jolting, and Kirika pointing a gun at Riki.

"Hey you, you trigger-happy hot-shot down there, I coulda shot back!" roared Riki, lowering her gun.

"Huh," said Mireille, judging the bullet hole in the ground a yard away. "Still not fast enough. Nor accurate."

_"Mireille!"_ snapped Kirika, scowling her.

"Whaaaat?" said Mireille, folding her arms. "Come now, I wasn't even _moving_!"

Riki jumped off the board, down upon Mireille, feet-first—but the assassin slid out of the way, rolling. Riki did the same, opposite from her. When they both regained balance, they aimed their guns at each other.

"Good," said Mireille, grinning. "Now, shoot."

"I would have back then," joked Riki, used to this kind of banter.

But Mireille wasn't bantering. She fired, walking toward Riki. The student, startled, covered her face as if that would protect her from bullets, cursing. _"Shoot," _repeated Mireille. Walking callously and leisurely. She fired again. Riki fired reflexively, but it missed Mireille.

"I thought we were just joking here!" said Riki over the gunfire.

"Riki, Mireille!" shouted Audriane. Next to her, Kirika was ready to move, but seemed frozen in place.

"Shoot!" roared Mireille. "I just reloaded—that was the one second of a _chance_ to return fire!" Empty magazines fell to the ground. She fired again. All the while, Riki stumbled backwards, gun raised hesitantly.

"You weren't afraid to aim a gun at me before!" said Mireille. Then, she was in front of Riki, point-blank, just like that. "Well, this is it. That's all to it. What do you do now, huh?"

Riki was bent over, grabbing her bleeding arm holding the gun. She glared at Mireille, yelling, "What the hell!"

"This is _it_, Riki," repeated Mireille. "So what do you do now?"

Riki was about to lurch forward, but Mireille was too fast and pressed the gun right between her eyes.

"First, you don't do _that_," lectured Mireille. "You raise your hands and surrender."

"That's it?" growled Riki.

"Live to see another day, yes." Mireille tightened her finger around the trigger. "But . . . there are those who could care less. They see you _inch_ a muscle, and they will shoot, before you can do anything. So what then?"

"You—."

"One . . ." counted Mireille.

"Wait . . ." said Riki, breaking into a sweat.

"Two . . ." said Mireille.

"She not serious, right?" panicked Audriane. In that second, she and Kirika exchanged looks—then jumped off their board to stop Mirelle.

"Three—," began Mireille. But when she pulled the trigger, suddenly, her gun was thrust upward, and she felt something knock her in the knees. Her legs gave way underneath her—then, pain exploded in her jaw, followed by her chest slamming hard into the earth; the common rocky terrain didn't help.

"Mireille!" cried Kirika, kneeling by her side.

Her partner lay there with her mouth open as if trying to get oxygen in. Finally, Mireille's chest shuddered, and she slowly exhaled. She sat up, rubbing her jaw.

"What did you just do?" she gasped, staring at Riki.

Instead, Sakuya stood between them.

"She's your student!" shouted Sakuya. Everyone couldn't tell who was angrier, her or Mireille.

"Exactly?" said Mireille, standing up, gun trained on Sakuya. "So what the hell you doing?"

"What I've been doing every time I come here—helping!" Sakuya pulled Riki up, whom she sort of knocked into—who then tried to charge into Mireille. Sakuya had to restrain her, which enraged Riki even more.

"You actually tried to shoot me!" roared Riki.

"You didn't get the _memo_?" shouted Mireille, tilting her gun sideways.

Sakuya restrained Riki, then, in fluid motion, was suddenly in Mireille's face, despite the gun in Mireille's hand. "That is _not_ how you teach!" she said through clenched teeth.

"Think you know better than everyone else, Third?" scoffed Mireille. Her gun flew up and pressed into the bottom of Sakuya's jaw.

"HEY!" roared Riki while she and Kirika tore them apart.

"What's your thing with Thirds anyway?" roared Sakuya.

"Everything!" said Mireille, as if the answer was supposed to be obvious.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

After uncovering their ears, everyone looked Audriane's way. Her gun was steaming as she lowered it. "_Enough!"_ she ordered.

The silence that followed was so intense that they could hear each other breathing, noses flaring, like dogs panting from a fight.

"_Wooo_, Audriane!" praised Riki, panting.

Audriane threw her a glare. "SERIOUSLY!"

"Shit, sorry . . ."

"And you!" Audriane pointed her gun at Mireille. "You the adult here!"

Mireille opened her mouth to reply, but roared in frustration, almost as if giving up. She leaned against her knees, rubbing them. Kirika was already inspecting her jaw for any bruises from hitting earth.

"Sorry about that," muttered Sakuya.

"And YOU!" snapped Audriane, glaring at her. "You the Third Sapling! You should not be here!"

Her reaction seemed to shock Sakuya. "Um, I want to help?"

"You said so yourself you knew what these Trials meant! That you still going to participate in them!" Audriane's fingers tapped the gun at her side; this made Riki nervous, watching her. "You our enemy!"

"Or _friend_," said Sakuya. Before Audriane could protest, she added, "Look, if I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be here—why do I have to explain myself?"

"We cannot afford to trust anyone but Mireille and Kirika," said Audriane, her thunderous tone dying down.

"I understand—."

"No, you end up killing us. That's what the Trials demand. Unless we get out here, you or Soldats won't stop till one of us dead."

"I don't _want_ to kill neither of you," murmured Sakuya.

"If that so, why you not here with us, training with us, _living_ with us? But you come and go, you disappear! How we trust you? We don't know what you do when you not around!"

"For all we know," said Kirika timidly, "you being here worsens things for us. Your superiors may not like this mingling."

Riki raised her hands to coax Audriane. "Hey, let's put that gun down. We can talk about this—Audriane, please."

Her partner looked at her, with a face she couldn't read. "Why you care about her that much? The Trials simple—either one of us dies, or she dies!"

_"Simple, _because we aren't murderers!" hissed Riki, through gritted teeth. "We don't kill our classmates! We don't kill anyone! No one but the Soldats!"

"She plans to kill one of us, some point! And I certainly plan it not be me! Or you, Riki!"

"What if no one has to kill anyone?" said Riki, gesturing to everyone. "No one has to die. We lay down our weapons, and we plan an escape. We work together. It's become clear that each of us have only acted certain ways because the Soldats threatened our lives, or lives of others. But Audriane's right, Sakuya, you _could_ stay. What's keeping you?"

There was a weak glow in Sakuya's eyes. "I'm sorry, Riki, but she's right. It's not that simple."

Riki threw her hands in the air. "WHY NOT?"

"You're sweeter than you let anyone think, Riki. Which is why you'll understand at some point."

Mireille spoke. "We don't know anything about you, and you've been ordered to limit anything you tell us." She cocked her gun at her side. "Explain to us why we shouldn't just shoot you right here, end it all? The four of us, against just you."

"Whoa there, Dutchess," said Riki, stepping between Sakuya and the others. "Look, everybody, we're not in the state to talk about this calmly. How about I talk to Sakuya, while you guys go vent or something and shoot at each other instead, yeah?"

"Shoot at each other?" echoed Mireille, but cringed when she realized what she just said totally deserved what Riki said next:

"You certainly don't hesitate on that."

Riki pulled Sakuya away from the group.

"And you can't afford to," said Mireille.

….

"You have a good friend there," said Sakuya. "Wasn't she that transfer student?"

"Yeah. Audriane Dupont," said Riki.

"Is that even a French name—a real name?"

Riki laughed. "That's what I thought."

"She seems to care about you."

"Well, we're all we've got."

They had wandered way off from Etxarren, up the bowl of the lake to the other side. The hill they were walking seemed to curve up into the shape of a shark fin. There was another mountain range behind it in the distance, purple against the blue sky. The contrast made their hill greener, dappled with flat rocks that looked like someone patted them down into the thin grass.

The two sat on the crest. The brightness of the cloudless day made everything in sight blinding, including Sakuya's bright white and red garments. Her knitted shawl trailed in the warm breeze, sometimes over her head like a hoodie. When Riki saw the mask, she almost wanted to ask, _Why do you wear that awful thing_? She realized that wasn't the big picture, though.

"What happened to you?" blurted Riki. "How come you just come and go, like you're acting like you don't want to care? The others think you're just spying on us, that you're acting like you're helping, that you're leaking our weaknesses and our strategies to this other faction. I keep telling them you're not evil—."

"It's funny," interrupted Sakuya. "We didn't know each other—more like, we knew _about_ each other through Ojiru, and because we were both 'popular'." She quoted that with her fingers. "Labels. High school. Teenagers. Haha."

Riki made a face, wondering where this was going.

"It all seems so . . . pointless now," continued Sakuya. "Education is important . . . but it pales in comparison to surviving—it pales to all of _this_."

"You're not answering me," said Riki. "Please tell me—prove to them—that you aren't really brainwashed."

"That's the thing," said Sakuya sternly. "High school was all about proving yourself, to your peers and teachers and parents. But out here, in the mountains, I don't have to. I am who I want to be."

"You sound crazy, you realize that?" Riki almost wanted to laugh about how similar Sakuya sounded to Audriane, but she didn't like it.

"Am I? Sorry." Sakuya lifted her face to the breeze. "We hate, and we hate, and we hate everything bad people do to good people like us. We are racked on getting our hellbent revenge, to the very end, no matter what, even if it means killing. Even when we hate killing. But . . . somewhere deep inside, in this void I didn't know existed till it was filled, I became grateful. Even almost proud. For everything I've gone through. Own your pain, ya know? Well, I'm stronger. I was never really good at many things. I'm not even that good of a fighter, even _now_—you're just not as good as me, so it makes me look good—."

"Haha," said Riki flatly.

Sakuya remained serious. "I'm stronger than I was. And I'm _good_ at it. That's all that matters to me, that I can protect those who can't survive on their own."

The massacre. That's what Sakuya was referring to. All of a sudden, all those dark fears, those feelings Riki thought she'd suppress, came back. Charging at her like monsters, forcing her back into a corner, locking her feet in place. Overwhelming screams. The gunshots. The confusion. Running by Mireille's assumingly dead body; finding the principal dead at his intercom. Nearly killing Audriane. Those white masks. Sakuya's stupid mask.

"School," whispered Riki. Saying the word "massacre" seemed to give its grip more power, so she refused to ever use it again.

Sakuya's eyes watered but she remained transfixed on the panorama. "Yeah."

Riki swallowed, nodding, dazed. "Yeah. I miss them too."

They were like broken machines, nodding absent-mindedly to everything the other said.

For now, this was enough for Riki. She didn't dare push Sakuya to revisit terrible memories, didn't bother with any more questions. Watching the sophomore hug her knees to her chest, resisting her own tears, was heart-wrenching. And just looking at this forlorn girl was like looking at a ghost—someone who just drifted to and fro, with unfinished business. Not revenge, but something deeper. She was fighting something, she was afraid of something. Riki wished she could help.

It didn't make sense how this was the Third Sapling meant to kill her or Audriane. The _thought_ of literally thrusting a dagger into Sakuya's chest or shooting a bullet into her forehead, over some stupid Trials, was too much. So did the thought of Audriane dying. And Kirika. Even Mireille.

To be fair, she _knew_ Audriane and Sakuya. She'd seen them laughing with friends, answering the teacher's questions, get picked up by the bus or by parents, and then suffer through the same loss as her. They were all she had left of school, something she used to dread but now missed more than anything.

She had to get Sakuya to join them. The more people, the better. All she had to do was to figure out why Sakuya was hesitating, why she was so grounded on being Noir.

Sakuya's voice was muffled, her face in her arms around her knees. "I stay . . . because I love the mountains. I want to stay out here, where there are no people. No one can hurt me ever again. I'm glad to be here, despite everything."

Riki didn't argue like she normally would. It was a validated statement. Again, similar to what Audriane would say. So much like Audriane. It almost made her wonder how she could change the tides between the Saplings if she proved this to Audriane. Change the tides in a totally different way from what Mireille and Kirika assumed, predicted, quailed.

"Hey Riki," murmured Sakuya, peeking over her arms at Riki.

"Yeah?"

"I'm also glad you survived. I'm glad you're here."

It _was_ something to celebrate. To be alone in the mountains, away from a dark truth in humanity that you refused to admit was there—but with someone sitting next you. Someone who shared your loss and your pain, no one else.

The Third slowly lay on her back, arms and legs spread without a care in the world, palms and toes facing up, eyes closed, chest rising and falling. Under all of that muscle and strange attire, Riki saw the real Sakuya.

"Your hair seems more red," blurted Riki.

"I'm an auburn. It's the sun hitting it at a certain angle."

"Huh, thought you always were a brunette."

"I guess I am, sort of. That's what auburn means, right? 'Reddish-brown'?"

Riki chuckled. "I guess." She lay down next to Sakuya.

"You seem to have gotten tanner," said Sakuya, eyes still closed.

"You too. I guess that's why we didn't recognize each other." Riki propped up on one elbow. "But your eyes, I never forgot them."

Sakuya supported herself up on both elbows behind her. "Wow, first pick-up line I've heard in a long time since . . ." She stopped herself, and Riki knew she was talking about Ojiru, and for some reason it made Riki think of him and how his stupid ways made her like him even more, and it made her tear up a bit—even though it turned out that it wasn't him she'd been jealous about . . .

Riki refused to let their conversation fall apart. "Your eyes are so unique, so blinding, almost like the sun out here."

"Wow, that's so sweet." Sakuya was thoughtfully quiet. "How come you're never like that around your friend, and your trainers?"

"You saw how that witch is."

"Yeah, I _do_. Every time I visit."

"Look, I just . . ." It felt like flames were eating up Riki's heart. "I just can't seem to forgive the people who brought us into this mess. They're victims as much as we are—but they were given a choice. Soldats threats or not, they _chose_ to bring us here. Just to save their own asses."

"Really?" Sakuya sat up. "That's _how_ you met them?"

"They 'saved' us, but kidnapped us all the way to here. We're children of warfare."

"No way . . . Now I understand why you act like you don't trust them. You want to, but you can't." Sakuya leaned to one side, her arm barely brushing Riki's. "Wow. And I thought I had an idea of everything . . ."

Riki stared. "Well . . . what _do_ you already know?"

"Um . . . well, I've been researching in this library—."

"A library? Where? In Laguardia?"

"Um. Yeah."

"Your superiors let you access anything like that? All that information?"

"Yes . . ." Sakuya was alarmed by Riki's excitement. She had expected this, but still, it made her nervous.

Riki paused. "Who _are_ your superiors?"

Sakuya gave her a flat look. "You know I'm not going to tell you. You've asked before."

"Oh come on! The Soldats aren't your BFF's or something!"

Sakuya smiled weakly. "I'm sorry, Riki, I can't . . ."

"Then escort us to Laguardia, at least!" Riki jabbed Sakuya in the arm with a finger. "You can't just up and walk away and disappear on us this time. You owe us!"

Sakuya gasped, smiling, yet still shocked. "I owe you nothing!"

"Yeah, for nearly killing me and Audriane—hunting us down in the night, then at the monastery!"

Pause.

"When you hunted us like some nocturnal psychopath!" continued Riki. "I couldn't tell which was worse, the _school_—man, how guilty I feel for saying that—or you tracking us down to the monastery—."

"Riki. What are you talking about?"

"What?"

"I never 'hunted' you. I didn't know about the First and Third Sapling until literally, like, the morning I attacked you at the monastery."

"What? That wasn't you? Stalking us through the night?"

"I've got ego—I know I'm a pretty good fighter. But I can't see in the dark _that_ well."

"You serious?"

"Yes! If I'd been tracking you during the night, don't you think I would've known it was you and Audriane? I wouldn't have persisted to attack you at the monastery."

"That wasn't you?"

"NO."

Riki stood up, combing her hand through her hair. She hastily undid her sharp ponytail and put it up again. Then did it again, while pacing back and forth.

When Sakuya was about to say something, Riki put her hands on her hips and glared at her. Sakuya waited, but Riki said nothing, lost in thought.

"We've got to get to Laguardia," said Riki. "And you're going to help us."


	19. Chapter 19: Names

Chapter 19

Names

"So," said Sakuya, "now that it's just the two of us, why don't we get to know each other?"

"I don't need to know anything about you," said the Knight. "Except for, how the hell the Soldats end up choosing you as the Third Sapling . . ."

"I dunno, you tell me. Is it the same reason why _your_ faction wants the Third Sapling?"

"Look, I'm not supposed to say anything. I'm just bringing you to where you should've been."

Sakuya stopped in her tracks, turning around to face her captor. He stepped back, his gun pointed. "Don't," he warned, "or I'll order my men to kill that family."

She ignored him, eyes stern. "Why do you keep saying that? That I 'should've been somewhere else'. What does that mean?"

The Knight studied her hard. "That's what we thought—you don't know, do you?"

Sakuya was even more baffled. "What's there to know? I'm the Third Sapling. In the game of the Soldats, I kill the other two Saplings, or else they'll kill me. It's me or them. When someone tells you that two strangers will be looking for you, to kill you, you don't run, you don't cry—you put up a fight. Simply put, I don't want to die. _Plus_, I owe them, my people. They saved me from that horrible massacre, from whoever sent those men to my school. My faction cares about me. They trained me to become stronger, because they don't want to see me die. And I don't wanna die. So, there, it's as simple as that. I don't die."

"What do you know about the other two Saplings?" he asked.

"We don't know who they are yet. But when we do, I will kill them."

"Doesn't that concern you? You don't know what you're up against, or the fact that you are forced to kill other human beings?"

Sakuya suddenly felt the desire to kill him. "_You_ were just threatening an innocent family—don't you dare tell me who's the one being forced to kill other human beings!"

His eyes dimmed. "If I didn't threaten them, you wouldn't have come with me."

"You Soldats have a hard time using words these days. It's so hard for you to just _tell_ us things."

The Knight growled in frustration, but something about his mannerisms told Sakuya she had nothing to worry about. In fact, he didn't seem like a bad person, even when he stepped closer with his gun between her eyes, indicating her to turn around and continue the trek . . .

The vineyards below became obscured by the increasing amount of trees they passed. To her left, Sakuya could only see patches of green stripes zigzagging across the majestic Cantabrians.

"So then," said Sakuya, "I guess my question is, what concerns _you_, about the Three Saplings?"

"You can prod all you want. Let's just focus on our breathing, _zuzen_, the hike's gonna get tough. And don't you try anything because any time my men will be joining us."

"Well, I'm not going to wait for them."

As she walked in front of him, she leaned forward and kicked her leg back, right into his face. He staggered, firing blindly. She then turned around, ducked, and slapped her hands around his pistol, pushing it upward. Her legs shot out, kicking him in the knees, as the gun went off. He fell onto his face. Grabbing him by scruff of his suit, she dragged him back up with his own gun at his head.

"Don't try anything," she said. "We'll continue our hike."

"What are you _doing_! I told you, my men will be here any moment—!"

"Which is why I had to take you down now." Sakuya pressed harder. "Keep going. And if anyone tries to reach you on your comm, you tell them everything is fine, or I shoot you in the head."

"They'll know something's up—when my men arrive, _they'll_ be the ones ordering the death of your friends—."

"Not when you're with me. You need me alive, that's why you haven't killed me yet. I _am_ Noir after all . . ." She smiled boastfully. "Pretty handy title if you ask me. I take it that even if your guys tried to shoot me down, _you_ won't let them. Because apparently I'm 'supposed to be somewhere else'. And I know you won't let them kill that family, because if they do, I'll go on a murdering spree, and no one wants to challenge Noir, and they'll try to kill me because it's the only way to stop me. Everyone will die. You. Me. Them. You don't want that to happen, am I right?"

The Knight grunted as she shoved him forward.

"So, to prevent that all from happening, before your men get here, you answer my questions. To start off, who sent you? I need _names_. What do they want with me—?"

Gunfire.

Sakuya ducked, spun around the Knight, and pressed his own gun against his temple, using his body as a shield. She looked around, sensing the gunshots came from the trail behind them that led back to Laguardia.

About ten men—who knows, maybe even more—behind the trees and rocks near the trail, their guns peeking out. Some had tried to stealth off the trail behind vegetation. Some didn't bother trying to hide, approaching the two slowly.

"I think you're a man who likes to live," said Sakuya into his ears. "Who likes to enjoy the sun on his skin, a walk in the park, a bit of reading here and there. It's just a guess. So just answer my questions, and you get to see eat your favorite food, meet a pretty lady, whatever. _Who_ is the leader of your faction?"

"You'll get your answers soon," pleaded the Knight. "If you just come with us."

"For all I know, you could be lying. Just tell me now."

"If I told you who they were, then your faction would go after them. Our leaders don't want their identities revealed until they have all Three Saplings—."

"What would someone do with all Three Saplings, alive—?"

"Look, that's all I'll tell you, so please, just come with us and you'll get your answers soon—."

"You're doing a great job, why stop now? Besides, I can't afford to blindly hand myself over to someone I don't know. Can't trust anyone. How can I guarantee the family's safety while I'm gone?"

"If you care about your little family, I suggest we go, _now_."

Sakuya's chest thudded slightly. She looked at the Knight, expecting him to order his men. She looked around, making sure she didn't miss a hidden Knight. The numbers isn't what concerned her, though. Her family. Her only.

"Look, we both know you can easily take out my men. I've realized that," said her prisoner. "But even if you could, chances of them ordering to kill the family are high."

"Just TELL me everything!" said Sakuya through gritted teeth, her heart pitter-pattering. "All I want are _answers_! To stand here, and _talk_! It's getting redundant here!"

"Even if I wanted to tell you anything, I can't. Someone could be watching."

"What does that matter—_who_? Who else is out there? How many fucking factions are there?" Sakuya shook violently, vexed. "Who is the real enemy here?"

He said nothing.

This was going nowhere. But she wanted answers so badly, almost as much as saving Lore and Arrosa and Elixabete and Xabier.

_Logic over emotions, Sakuya. Logic over emotions . . ._

She sucked in a huge breath, and exhaled. _After all of that . . ._

"Fine. Take me," she said, slowly letting him go. "But I'm keeping the gun. And, you are to _not_ harm that family."

Her cooperation shocked him. He finally nodded and waved over his men. They hesitated to step out, but when they watched him continue the trail, untouched, they slowly lowered their weapons, and followed in congregation. As they walked by, they glared at Sakuya, veins still popping, with frowns that looked like they've been glued on.

Sakuya wanted to laugh. They were walking ahead, not even waiting for her! Soldats were so weird, yet so entertaining.

She followed, and caught up with the lead Knight at the front.

"So what's your name?" she asked him.

"You shouldn't ask me that," he said. "Just like how I shouldn't ask you your name."

"Is that all I am to everyone? The Third Sapling? Some secret weapon everyone's warring over?"

"It's nothing personal. It shouldn't be—so don't ask what my name is."

"_Izena duen guzia omen da."_

He paused. "I thought you didn't know Basque."

"I don't. But I hear Xabier say it all the time to his little girls. What does it mean?"

"It means, 'That which has a name exists'."

"Oh."

"Why'd you say it if you didn't even know what you were saying?"

"I was hoping to get _anything_ out of you. It wasn't related to our current situation, but it answered something for me." Sakuya chuckled to herself.

He watched her as she thought about its meaning. "Well, forget about names, about mine," he said. "It's not me you care about, it's that family."

"What is it _you_ care about, then?"

"Stopping this madness."

"The Trials?"

He didn't say anything, just panted a bit as they wove around the boulders on the hill they were climbing. Around them, the Cantabrians were grayer and wrinkled from a distance. Now that Sakuya thought about it, maybe it was best that they never fought; they weren't in the best terrain to fight with all these loose clutters of rocks on the grassy slopes. The grass was longer, with bushy tufts, so it seemed softer in these areas. But even she could have rolled her ankle or hit her head. She wondered where they were heading, if they planned to hike all of this . . .

"Wait," said Sakuya. "Do _you_ know who the other two Saplings are?"

He chuckled, as if in disbelief. "Your superiors really don't tell you anything, do they?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you _think_?"

Sakuya almost glared. She couldn't help but be offended. "They care for me. They're not bad people."

"Your family isn't bad," he said, nodding back to Etxea. "But your superiors . . .? Look. _Noir_. You have access to a public library. You should take advantage of that, do your own research—."

There was a gurgling cry from behind them. One of their men had collapsed. In unison, the rest of them drew out their guns, yelling to each other, flanking Sakuya and their lead Knight in a protective swarm. It was a confusing, interesting turn of events—from them attacking her and threatening her friends, to protecting her.

"Protect the Third Sapling!" yelled the lead Knight.

But more men fell to the whipping cry of bullets. Sakuya would have reacted fast and easily taken down whoever was shooting at them—but as of now, she didn't know who she should kill. Her own captors or the ones shooting at them all?

It was a blur of limbs, black suits, green grass . . . All the while, Sakuya stood there, watching their deaths around her. She looked around for the lead Knight lost in the confusion, whose men tried to cover him while he yelled on his comms. Her first instinct was to kill him, not sure if he was ordering the death of her family . . .

But above all that noise, she heard someone call to her: "Sakuya!"

And at the top of their hill stood another black shroud of men in suits. Among them, a woman with dark, short hair above the shoulders.

"Kill them all," she shouted.

A landslide wasn't your every-day sight. It didn't seem to register to anyone that there were rocks tumbling down toward them. Finally, the men around Sakuya reacted. They panicked, fled into each other as they tried to dodge, to flee. This wasn't something Sakuya could easily navigate through—and yet, it seemed she didn't have to worry about it. Round, flat, pointy, squarely boulders rolled toward her, but always around her, always hitting the men around her. It was almost cartoony the way the rocks simply rolled over the men, like they were made out of paper to begin with. She heard the echoing, accumulating sound of thuds, crunches, and the splatter of blood.

Finally, the earth stopped shaking, and the dust settled. Now that there were more rocks, it was stable enough for Sakuya to jump and step from rock to rock. She ignored the hands and feet she saw sticking out from beneath some, the reddish-brown stains splattered across the sides and undersides of rocks.

She found the lead Knight off to the side of the hill, pressed against a colossal wall of rock, almost plateau-like.

"Are you ok?" she asked him.

He was shaking, staring at the landslide. Sakuya turned around to catch a glimpse of his survivors fleeing back down the mountain, or disappearing behind hard-rock slopes.

A shadow consumed them both. Sakuya shaded her eyes with her hands, to see that the newcomer was aiming a gun.

"Everything's alright, now, Sakuya. We won't let anyone take you away."

"I let them take me," argued Sakuya. "They were going to take me to the leaders of the Third Faction—."

"That would've been a terrible idea, trusting people you don't know."

Sakuya put a hand on her hip. "You trained me to deal with this kind of stuff—!"

The lead Knight suddenly threw himself in front of her, aiming his gun up at the stranger. Sakuya could see his whole body shaking. Although he didn't panic like most people she's seen, his voice was slightly discorded with the fright and desperation of a cornered beast.

Sakuya yelled, "I surrendered myself to them to _prevent_ this!"

"Did you forget they threatened your friends back there? _Him_?"

"I _know_, that's why I walked away so they wouldn't get hurt—DON'T!" She tried to stop the Knight as he lifted his gun and fired.

Instead, he crashed to the ground in front of her. She stared, unable to fight the guilt she felt. And even though he was dead, she still wished she had learned his name.

_Izena duen guzia omen da._

Another part of her heart, shaved away. It was something she only felt for Lore and Arrosa . . . and for her mentor. Sakuya looked up at the woman, unable to read her expression, unable to tell whether to feel gratitude and love, or detestation.

"What's makes him any different from all the other Knights you've killed?" said her mentor, tucking her gun into the front of her blouse.

Sakuya shuddered a sigh.

"Did you really think he was going to spare you? Or even yet, tell you all the answers you needed to know?"

"We could have used those answers," snarled Sakuya.

"If you have any questions, then why did you not just ask me? I am your teacher, it is my duty to tell you everything you need to know."

Sakuya hesitated. "He said something about how I was supposed to be somewhere else. Do you know what he meant?"

The woman gave a condescending sigh, as if Sakuya should have known better. "All Soldats say that, Sakuya. They'll say whatever it takes to get you. But I won't let them take you. I protect my own, as you should." Her mentor gestured back to the Etxea.

"How'd you hear about us being in trouble?"

"First, go home and get cleaned up and fed." Her mentor stopped in her tracks, looking back down at Sakuya. "By the way, the First and Second Sapling has been confirmed. So going with these men was pointless, anyway."


	20. Chapter 20: Auburn

Chapter 20

Auburn

The next day, Sakuya helped make lunch. With the twins, she plucked tomatoes, with sweet and hot red peppers from the family garden, and brought it inside for _basquaise_, one of Elixabete's favorite cuisines to cook for the family. Meanwhile, Xabier and his friend poured the _txikito_, white wine. Sakuya also made sure the children were careful with spiking skewers and toothpicks into their _pintxo_, and putting an even amount of cod, stuffed peppers, and croquettes on every thick slice of bread. After they were done preparing the appetizers, they set them in a presentable fashion on the serving table clothed in white, then, organized the silverware on the round, wooden table low to the floor.

Everyone sat down and said grace. As they ate, Sakuya wondered how shaken up the parents were from yesterday's conflict. They just ate, smiling and responding to Lore's and Arrosa's comments.

Most of the time, Sakuya expected—she _feared_—terror or distrust to look back at her . . . and yet, the parents still treated her like their daughter. Hugging her, having her help them with outdoor labor, playing with the children, carving or collecting or chopping skinny pieces of medlar wood, cleaning dishes. Like parents ignoring their children's bad behavior. It made her feel guilty and loved altogether. Just like the time when she fought off Knights the night the family found her scratched-up body on their land. When Knights came after her after already putting her through so much . . . when she put a knife through the throats of two Knights, in front of Lore and Arrosa . . .

Sakuya wondered if the children ever had a grasp of everything happening around them. She wouldn't be surprised if they did.

After lunch, Elixabete surprised her daughters with dessert. Arrosa sat on Sakuya's lap as they shared Chocolate Gateau Basque, a simple, faded chocolate cake. As Arrosa ate, Sakuya pulled the girl's hair back into a ponytail, admiring the reddish hue in her dark hair. Reddish-brown, like hers. For some reason, it made Sakuya smile, as if she really was related to them.

Afterwards, Elixabete took her daughters to Laguardia so they could enjoy its library books. Normally Sakuya would accompany them, hoping to take this as a chance to do some more research on the Basque culture and maybe even its language, but Xabier gave her a look that said for her to stay. That silence was usually casual and pleasant—but with Xabier's unnamed friend with them, it didn't feel like home.

"Sakuya, _kaixo."_

It wasn't Xabier who said it, but his friend.

"I've been meaning to ask your name," said Sakuya, blinking. "But wasn't sure if you'd understand what I was saying anyway. But you could all along, couldn't you?"

The bearded man nodded. He had leathery tan skin, and a large nose, and a strong brow with dignified brown eyes and thick eyebrows like fuzzy caterpillars. His graying hair was a tuft that had gone wild toward the back. Under those traditional white, rolled-up sleeves and black vest and gray trousers, he was handsome and strong for a man in his late fifties.

"_Zer moduz?"_ he continued. "My cousin here would like to thank you for protecting his family."

His fluent English—or rather, him speaking to her at all—left Sakuya dumbfounded.

Finally, she said, "Your cousin?" Looked at Xabier. "I thought you two were just friends! He never ever hinted that you were related."

Chuckle. "Well, I don't think he _could_ tell if you even if he tried."

"What's your name?" asked Sakuya.

"Asher."

Sakya froze. "As in . . . _Sir_ Asher?"

He smiled. "Yes, child."

"How come I haven't met you till now?"

"Well, a man of the Soldats can be very busy. Especially when it comes to matters concerning the Saplings."

"All those times you visited . . . it was because you were watching me, wasn't it?" Sakuya stood up, slamming her hands on the table.

"Well, they _are_ my family," said Asher, laughing. "But _bai_, I was also visiting to check on the famous, strong, young woman who's made it all the way to the Cantabrians. I had to check how your recovery was going. You went through a lot—first recovering from a gun shot to the chest, then Shirihime freeing you from that faction's custody—then you flying from Tokyo to Spain, followed by a string of heartless ambushes that you two had to fight through to get to here. She loses you in the midst of it, and then we suddenly find you in my cousin's house. Pretty stunning."

Sakuya was speechless.

"Well, and of course," added Asher, "see how you've progressed in your training with Shirihime after you recovered with my family."

Sakuya looked over to Xabier, her chest filled with a cold sense of dread. "Wait. Xabier, are you a Soldat?"

The one word Xabier knew; his eyes glinted with understanding. But he shook his head.

"_Ez_, he is not," said Asher. "It just happens to be coincidental that a stranger who took you in is related to a powerful Soldat."

This relieved Sakuya, who leaned back into her chair. Just because she let Soldats train her, didn't mean she would have been fond of the idea of these people to be part of something so malevolent and dark.

"You're glad, I see," said Asher, watching her. "You've grown attached to them, haven't you?"

Sakuya didn't want to admit it, especially to a man she'd just met—or at least, learned the identity behind. Even if he was Shirihime's "lord".

Sir Asher held his empty wine glass, rotating it in circles by its skinny neck, lost in thought; he shared a look with Xabier.

"Since this is our first time meeting," he said warmly, "I'd like to get to know you. What are you opinions on being the Third Sapling? Of the Trials, and Noir, and the Soldats?"

Sakuya hesitated, chewing on her lip, looking at Xabier.

"It's a harmless question," said Asher, smiling. "You're not a police dog for the Soldats. You are Sakuya, a human being. With extraordinary skills of a fighter, with an extraordinary destiny."

"I . . . I don't know," said Sakuya. "I just want to be left alone in the mountains. But I guess the only way to do that is to protect what I have here." She looked back at Xabier, who smiled thinly at her. It was sad for her to admit that he almost replaced her real father. But it couldn't be helped. She couldn't just leave them.

"So, you don't mind being the Third Sapling? Despite all those heinous things you've been through?" asked Asher.

Dark memories—creeping nightmares in her currently awakened consciousness—swamped Sakuya's head. Fights. Fight after fight, after fight. More like _struggles_. She could barely stand, barely breathe, barely move another inch. Men were everywhere, always wanting to kill her. Coming around corners, through windows, in groups, jumping her from above. Behind bushes, in the stores, in the public restrooms, as casual customers in a line to the grocery cashier. They had guns, knives, pipes, anything—everything they could to kill her. Then the shooting. Then more fighting. More surviving.

"To protect the innocent," said Sakuya, "I have to be a killer. I've accepted that I've lost everything I knew—including my former self, whoever that was. I accept the role of the Third Sapling. Even if it means being put through hell. Whatever makes me stronger, so that I can protect . . . my family. To be _arreba_."

She smiled at Xabier, who looked like he was trying to understand the context of her use of a Basque word.

"I'm glad you like my family," said Asher, beaming. "It's good to know the powerful Noir is in the care of people I trust, too." He glanced sideways at his cousin, a look that was gone before Sakuya even knew it was there.

Asher scooted his chair back and stood up, walking over to the stone wall from across the dining table. There were square-shaped holes in it, as if pieces had been removed; full of tin cans, vases, or other miscellaneous décor. To the far left, was a large groove, almost shrine-like. Three shelves held a tin watering can, glass bottles, and an ambiguous wiry basket. And in the center, a hanging picture frame of the family.

Sakuya would see the parents looking at it on a daily basis. While Lore and Arrosa admired it, their parents, however, looked at it in a more empty way—especially whenever their daughters looked at it excitedly. As if the parents didn't always see what they already had; they were seeing something that could have been. Sakuya understood this feeling, because she's felt the same way looking at that photo. It was yearning. And she also knew because Xabier and Elixabete would look at her in a similar way.

Sakuya joined Asher's side to study the family photo. Elixabete was a little younger than her husband, probably around fifty-five-years-old, with wrinkles around the eyes and smile. Short, wavy reddish-brown hair to the shoulders. Small, curvy, but strong Basque nose. Same with Xabier's nose; he was a fairly stocky man, with a little plump of a belly, but capable arms. He had extremely short, trimmed hair, which left room for a large, strong forehead and brow—hooding big black eyes that made the whites of his eyes pop. More soul Sakuya has seen in anyone else's eyes. His leathery tan skin from toiling outside pushed this contrast even more. And that wide, thin, Basque mouth Sakuya was noticing around Laguardia . . .

"I once had another cousin-once-removed," said Asher, caressing the picture frame with a finger. "Xabier's first daughter, before Lore and Arrosa—more than a decade ago."

"What happened to her?"

Before Asher could reply, someone grabbed Sakuya by one shoulder. She turned to see it was Xabier, his face suddenly determined. He muttered in Basque, glaring at Asher. Meanwhile, his hand squeezed Sakuya's shoulder intensely. The shoulder squeeze of a loving father.

"What is he saying?" she asked Asher.

"It's been a decade since his first daughter—yet the pain lingers."

"Wait, he understands what we're saying?"

"No. But the body is a mystical, separate language of its own," marveled Asher. "That's the thing about human connections." He nodded solemnly to his cousin, as if understanding the request. "Maybe, if you tried to learn the Basque language, you would be able to communicate with him. Ask him about his daughter, one day."

Sakuya looked at Xabier. "Yeah. Maybe."

Asher watched her expression as she put her hand on Xabier's hairy arm. "The Basques are a proud people," he said. "They learn to adapt—_you_ have learned to adapt. You have earned your rightful place among this family, among Etxea."

"They took care of me," said Sakuya. "It sounds horrible, but they're all I have close to a family after losing mine. I won't lose them. I have nothing else. No one else . . ."

"So does being the powerful Third Sapling in this isolated beauty with her mountain family sound good to you?" chuckled Asher. "You'll stay in Etxea, become part of Etxea, and even after you die your children will bear its name? You will grow up here and die here? Die for Etxea?"

Sakuya said nothing, but her thoughtful expression led Asher to believe he was hitting a spot. But then her face lit.

"It was _you_ they were negotiating with, wasn't it?" she blurted. "Not Xabier, but you. Yesterday, when the Knights held the family hostage."

Asher rubbed his brow, with a heavy sigh. "Yes. They knew who I was, I think. And I couldn't risk my family, so I left everything in your hands by giving you to them. I knew that you could handle them on your own, out in the woods, away from here. Did I think wrong?"

"No, you were right to do that," said Sakuya, flaring her nostrils.

"I'm glad our views are the same, that we both have something to fight for. Family is important. _Etxea_ is important."

She nodded, but then hesitated, brow wrinkling in thought. "But they're not safe here. They'll never be, anywhere. . . because the First and Second Saplings are here, aren't they?"

"We just received word from our sources, yes."

"Tell me where they are. _Now_. I'll go there, and end this. To protect my own."

…..

"We are not going to Laguardia, not yet," said Mireille, firing at the walking sticks she stuffed into the dirt, something Kirika had been doing to challenge the girls' aim.

"Why not? We're ready, aren't we?" growled Riki, shooting her own set of sticks.

"Ready _enough_," corrected Mireille.

Riki fired, chipping off wood off a stick. "You're being confusing. You want us to be ready to handle real-life threats, real enemies, but you won't let us even get to that part!"

"We think you're ready," said Kirika softly, stepping up next to Riki. "It's just, well, you didn't do so well the last time you saw men in masks."

"What is it with those masks, anyway?" roared Riki, blasting a stick. Its two halves spun in opposite directions.

"Ask the King of Fools over there," said Mireille, who didn't even look at Sakuya, but everyone knew who she meant.

Instead of over her entire face, Sakuya pulled the oval wooden mask over her mouth and nose. "My guess is that it's a psychological thing," she said, shrugging. She turned to Riki, pointing to herself. "Do I look so scary now?"

Riki tried not to laugh. "Well. Not as ugly as those men."

Sakuya batted her eyelashes. "So, I'm prettier than them?"

Riki looked away, trying to focus on her target. "Sure," she said. She fired, but missed.

_"Femme fatale!"_ coughed Audriane.

Riki looked sideways at her. "You ok?" She raised an eyebrow.

Audriane cleared her throat, and continued to fire her own rounds.

"Hey, what the hell was that? French or something?" said Riki, glaring at her. "I'm telling you, speak English or better Japanese."

"If you paid attention in our Literature class," said Sakuya, "you'd probably know what that word means."

Riki glared at both Saplings. "What _does_ it mean?"

"You really _don't_ own a dictionary," muttered Audriane.

"It's ok, Riki," laughed Sakuya. "Audriane basically called me sultry and attractive, that's all."

"You sure _you_ know what it means?" whispered Audriane, firing at the sticks.

"Hey, have you ever used your femme fatale for your missions?" joked Sakuya, grinning at Mireille, who ignored her. "Well, did she, Kirika?"

"A few times," giggled Kirika, throwing a berated Mireille an apologetic look.

"This is not what we're here to talk about," began Riki. "We should go to Laguardia—."

"You don't even know _what_ we're talking about," sniggered Mireille.

Everyone else erupt in laughter, especially Audriane, who looked at Mireille as if seeing a genuine side of her for the first time.

Riki turned red. "I _would_ if people told me what it meant!"

When they all kept snickering at her, Audriane melted to her knees, bending over, holding her stomach, her other hand waving in front of her as if begging for mercy. This only aggravated Riki further, who aimed her gun down at Audriane on the ground.

But Sakuya, stifling a giggle, lowered Riki's gun, her other hand on Riki's shoulder. "It's fine, Riki. Here, I'll tell you what it means . . ."

She pulled Riki in close and whispered into her ear. The warmth of her grip on Riki's arm. The arousing closeness of her chest against Riki's. The very heat of her breath on Riki's ears sent her own heat waves throughout her body. And instantly, she thought of Ojiru. How he and Sakuya leaned into each other, whispering into each other's ears, sitting across from her at mixers. How she and Riki would tease him, just to embarrass him in front of his friends. How Ojiru and Sakuya kissed on the sidelines of the soccer field where his team practiced next to Riki's. How seeing that single hint of that auburn hair out in the sunny day told her that Ojiru was there too . . .

And for Mireille, how Chloe whispered those poisonous words of Noir to Kirika that day. She watched Sakuya.

Finally, Riki withdrew, her body scorching with a different emotion other than aggravation. She looked into Sakuya's eyes. How could this sweet, gentle person be so dangerous?

"She didn't tell you the actual definition, did she?" said Mireille rather monotonously.

Riki refused to look anyone else in the eye. She turned and tried to focus so hard on nothing else but shooting down those sticks.

Audriane coughed, "Femme fatale!" Then, laughed at her own joke before she even finished saying it. But when no one agreed, she looked to see that her trainers were studying Riki and Sakuya.

Sakuya folded her arms. "Ya know, I really hate that look you always give me."

"We still don't know a thing about you," said Kirika guiltily.

"If you want to get to know me so bad, why don't you fight me?"

Everyone stopped what they did to watch. Riki and Audriane almost gave that "don't!" look at Sakuya, who pulled out her knives. She didn't raise them, but kept them by her side.

"How about it?" she said cheerfully. "You don't seem to be one of words, Mireille—and you especially, Kirika—so let's talk the only way we know."

"That is . . . actually an entertaining idea," said Riki, smirking at Mireille. "I'd like to see who is better."

Kirika and Audriane expected Mireille to shrug off the challenge, but the Corsican reloaded her gun. "Gladly," she said.

"What about us?" begged Audriane. "If we prove to you we ready, we go to Laguardia?"

This time, Mireille lowered her gun. "Not with the Third Sapling's help." She turned her back on Sakuya. "I will not face the three of you together. This isn't what we were paid for—this isn't part of the Trials."

"Who says?" said Riki, joining Sakuya's side. "I think it'd be a great chance to prove ourselves to you. Face it, students eventually surpass their mentors. Besides, you and Kirika are like . . . _killer_ good, so, we'd appreciate Sakuya's help."

Kirika frowned. "I don't find this . . . right. To include the Third Sapling in our training."

"She's _been_ training us—now c'mon, us three go against you two!"

Audriane reluctantly stood next to Riki. She didn't want to have anything to do with Sakuya, but at the same time, since she was the one who suggested the trio idea, she still wanted to take this chance to prove their skill. She said nothing, allowing Riki do all the talk, while looking over at Sakuya. Could such skill be trusted in their midst? Any second, during battle, Sakuya could actually kill them.

"I'm sorry, but did I train you to cower behind some femme fatale?" said Mireille. "If you can't fight us without Sakuya's help, then you might as well hand the title of Noir over to her. Die in a hole for all I care."

"I don't see what's wrong with the three of us working together," murmured Riki.

"Take it or leave it," said Mireille. "You two against us two. No Third."

Riki felt her jaw clamp as she clenched her teeth. "You don't control what happens next in my story. You don't make decisions in _my_ life!"

She raised her gun.

"It's _my _life!"

And fired.


	21. Chapter 21: The Three Saplings

**Author's Note: **Listen to Mai-Hime's "Pink Dance" for this chapter. watch?v=NuXSt-y3VS4&amp;list=PLCC0B59FA556AA1E5&amp;index=21Chapter 21

The Three Saplings

"You kind of asked for it," said Kirika as they trekked the woods.

"Yeah, but, _I'm_ the professional—I can decide to kill or not to kill," growled Mireille. "We have the accuracy and control to shoot a target wherever we want on their bodies. Or not to shoot, just rattle them. But those girls can't do that yet. They've improved, but—dammit, Riki actually thought _shooting_ me would prove them Noir. It does nothing but _kill_ me."

Kirika dared not laugh, just smiled to herself.

After forcing the Three Saplings to take cover in the Etxarren, Noir had retreated into the woods. Mireille planned for them to wind their way around the giant lake. Cover in the woods bought them time, but only for so long. So many things could go wrong. The unpredictable, lumpy terrain could lead to tripping or a branch in the eye. Their noisy crunchy footsteps would make them just as detectable as their opponents' footsteps to them. It was a double-edged sword.

"Think they can do it?" asked Kirika, looking around them warily.

"With the Third Sapling's help, most likely."

"Sakuya's right. You grudge against Thirds. It's kind of unfair to her."

"Well, I'd sympathize if we knew everything about her. But we don't," said Mireille rather flatly.

There was a snap. They swung their weapons toward the source. When it was quiet, they continued walking.

"Maybe Riki's right," said Kirika. "We have to go to Laguardia. We'll get our answers there—one of them, maybe about Sakuya."

"First, I'd rather focus on saving Noir the embarrassment of being shot down by fourteen-year-olds," said Mireille dryly.

"Sixteen."

"Sixteen? I thought freshmen were like, fourteen or fifteen?"

"They definitely don't _act_ fourteen. Riki was adopted, remember? She's had to been held back a year or two before starting school. I think that's why she has a hard time knowing things others would know. As for Audriane, she's smart."

"Right." Mireille sighed. "Well, anyway, this world doesn't care how old they are. They are the Three Saplings . . . _if_ Sakuya is the Third."

"I wonder what that means. What happened in the Trials for the Soldats to pick up Sakuya instead? Who was supposed to be the Third Sapling?"

Mireille shrugged. "We'll figure it out, we always do. Nothing lasts forever—the Soldats will crumble. Kings eventually fall."

Kirika was silent, until she asked, "Do you think we'll live long enough to grow old?"

Mireille slowed down so Kirika was side-by-side with her. She smiled at her questioningly. "Which would you prefer? Die young and heroically, or become a bored ol' curmudgeon?"

"I've had my youthful thrills," said Kirika. "I would like the retirement."

"We're in the Cantabrians, I think that counts as retirement . . ."

"For the wrong reasons, though."

This was Kirika's soft guilt-trip, not productive conversation—so Mireille switched back to their main objective. She looked back down toward the lake, a glint of blue through the trees.

"I'm kinda glad we didn't teach them tracking," she joked. "Well . . . maybe after this, we should."

"I never saw you as the tracking type."

"You kinda figure it out along the way." Mireille scanned the area, sighing. "Well. They have plenty of options on how to beat us. We've taught them how to shoot, now let's see them apply it to their environment."

…..

"I found it," said Riki, who returned to the dining table with a map. "It's the same one from when we first hiked up here."

Sakuya's eyes lit up. "Good thinkin'." She and Audriane helped Riki spread the map flat out on the table.

"There," said Riki, pointing at a familiar oval shape on the map. "Here we are. The lake. Those two will be sorry for leaving us with the Etxarren. We've got cover from all sides if we stay in here."

Audriane made a face. "That your plan? Hide here? We should advance—surprise them, before they make a move on us. There three of us."

"Maybe you should . . . count me out," said Sakuya.

Riki glared at her. "Seriously? You're the one who challenged them! We stepped in to support you!"

"Well, you kinda stole my battle from me," said Sakuya, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, like Mireille said, this is your training. I helped you with combat, now you need to do this on your own."

"You're a Sapling, too," said Riki. "If it weren't for your super-dooper 'superiors', you would've been _here_ with us, training _with_ us."

Audriane sighed. "Maybe she's right, Riki. Let's do it, just you and me. This our chance to prove ourselves. _Us_!"

Riki put a hand on her hip, giving Sakuya a skeptical look. "How many men have you killed in your training?"

"I didn't keep count."

Audriane didn't like the sound of that. She turned to Riki. "She already has experience. We don't. Using her would be cheating."

"Rules don't apply to a life-and-death situation," said Riki, almost pleadingly. "She's gonna help us. It's all about beating the enemy, not how you do it. They die, or you die. Please, Sakuya. Help us."

Sakuya folded her arms, her choice unquestionable. "_No_. I worked my ass off to get where I am. You will too."

"Oh please, don't treat this like some school exam," snapped Riki. "Don't tell me you take pride in what you've gone through to become as good as you are."

"I _do_ take pride in my efforts," said Sakuya, tilting her head at Riki as if she couldn't believe the way she was talking to her. "And what do you know about me? You don't know what I went through."

Riki fell silent, glancing at the faint silver scars on Sakuya's arms. "Fine," she murmured. "You're right—this is our chance to prove ourselves."

"_I_ said that," growled Audriane.

In all that gradual anger, Sakuya felt a prick of guilt. "Don't make that face. I feel horrible."

Audriane tapped the table impatiently. "It's decided! Riki and I only. Us two against those two."

Riki and Sakuya held each other's gaze, while Riki asked, "So . . . are you going to leave?"

Sakuya shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe I want to see how you do."

For some reason, this irked Audriane. She had patiently—_barely_—allowed Sakuya to show them some tricks. So far, the Third hadn't shown any intentions on harming them. She'd been polite and observant; she smiled and joked with Riki, attempting with their trainers. She was even now telling Riki to work hard, to fight, even though it meant that Riki only listened to her. How ridiculous was that! For a friend to ignore her friend over a _crush_? It was like high school all over again!

_Yeah. If only . . ._

Audriane glanced at Sakuy, who looked back, confused.

No. She didn't want Sakuya there, like some condescending Soldat spectator.

In fact, there was something oddly familiar in the way she watched them.

"Ok," said Riki, focused. "We know our surroundings pretty well, right? So we've got our lake, our Etxarren, the woods . . ."

"The stables," added Audriane. "The giant boulder behind us, the garden, the rocks all over the place. . . the monastery."

"Too far out. It'd be exhausting, you know that," said Riki. "Let's end it swiftly. Simple tricks they won't see coming. Let's draw them back here to Etxarren."

"And what trap you propose?" asked Audriane.

"Just go out there, take initiative," interrupted Sakuya. "_End_ it."

"Shush, you're not here," said Riki, eyes still glued to the map.

Audriane wanted to mouth her agreement, but didn't say anything. She kept her eyes on the map. She didn't want to feel anger or maybe what could have been jealousy toward the Third Sapling after all the help she has provided. After all, it wasn't Sakuya's fault she was placed into all of this. It was none of their fault . . .

"Look," said Riki, "all I'm saying is that we've got to keep an eye out in all these areas. By digesting this map, we see how _they_ look at things, predict what they might do—think ahead."

Audriane nodded in agreement. "That's a start. But what's our _trap_?"

"Shouldn't you be worrying about where Mireille and Kirika are _now_?" said Sakuya. "Look out the window, see if they're not nearby?"

A surge of fire rushed through Audriane's veins. Maybe she just didn't like being so . . . inexperienced, so weak and clueless compared to Sakuya. But she knew Sakuya was right, and peeked out the kitchen window.

"I'm _sorry_," snapped Riki, looking up at Sakuya, "was that you saying you wanted to help us after all? If it wasn't, then why are you still talking? You're giving mixed signals here."

_You're telling me,_ thought Audriane. She eyed the tension between Riki and Sakuya. Sometimes it looked like Riki would do whatever Sakuya would say, other times Riki would be Riki, ignoring the help she needed at the most dire time.

Right there and now, Audriane wondered if that was their best bet: Sakuya taking lead. Or at least, instructing them. Would Riki listen? Would they be able to win this with Sakuya's guidance? Would this sacrifice the chances of Riki trusting and listening to Audriane, her own partner? Was this even a _healthy_ idea on Riki's behalf?

Of course not, Sakuya was the Third._ They_ were to be Noir together.

"Riki," said Audriane. "Do you trust me?"

Riki looked up from the map. "After everything we went through? Of course."

Shocked, Audriane beamed. "Really?"

"Yeah?"

"Really?"

"_Yeah."_

"But you trust me more than the Third Sapling?"

"Yes, the fellow human being standing next to you has a name," said Sakuya flatly.

Riki snorted but gave Audriane her full attention. "Look, Audriane . . . that seems like an unfair question. You're putting me on the spot here. Let's just focus on teamwork—."

"Which is about _trust_," interrupted Audriane. "And communication. And listening. Me over her, Riki. We not know her, but I know you, and you know me. We're partners."

"For some reason," growled Sakuya, "coming from you, it's insulting—in ways, worse than from Mireille."

Riki looked frantically from Sakuya to Audriane. "I trust you, Audriane," she said firmly. "That's all that matters."

Audriane nodded, taking a deep breath. "You right. Thank you."

…

It had been fifteen minutes since their meeting in the Etxarren. Their best guess was that by then, Mireille and Kirika would split up, probably wound around the lake to gain distance. They weren't sure, so Riki, being more aggressive and impatient, volunteered to track them down while Audriane and Sakuya stayed behind.

"They wouldn't actually shoot and kill Riki, right?" asked Audriane, as she and Sakuya flipped the dining table over.

"I don't know them like you do," said Sakuya. "My mentor teaches a little differently. She's tough like yours, but most certainly different."

Audriane was about to ask the mentor's name, but remembered Sakuya wouldn't answer anything like that. So she focused on grabbing the tablecloth from the pantry and spreading it over the legs of the lopsided dining table. They draped all windows with towels, wash clothes, placemats. Then, nailed the doorways with sheets stripped from the beds.

"They're your trainers," said Sakuya, as she hung their silverware by strings to their windows. "I doubt they'd shoot you in vital areas—just places where they can cripple you."

Audriane had been near unconsciousness when Kirika grazed Riki's neck with a bullet, back at the school. It wasn't the most pleasant, last image to see before blacking out—but a good reminder of who they were up against.

"So, why all the furniture?" grunted Sakuya. The beds screeched as they pushed them around across the freshmen's bedroom floor. "Seems . . . overboard. And paranoid."

They propped the beds onto their sides, ripping the mattress sheets off to swath around the legs of the bed. Repeated the process in Mireille and Kirika's bedroom.

All the while, Sakuya gave Audriane a look. She wanted to say something—she couldn't believe how rude the French was being—but let it go. Now they just had to focus, do their part, while Riki was out there doing hers.

"Same thing with every piece of furniture," said Audriane. "Bed tables, drawers, wardrobes, chairs . . ."

"Everything looks like it's been passed through the generations," murmured Sakuya. "I fear their bullets will shoot right through." She frowned, almost with disapproval. "Not a lot to go with, in this house."

"It's enough," said Audriane. "Now, as for you . . ."

Sakuya blinked. "I thought I—."

"You won't raise a finger. But you _will_ do your part."

…

Mireille and Kirika were on the opposite side of the lake. Etxarren was far across, barely visible among all that rock, grass, and trees.

Their guns were still drawn, but they hadn't sensed anyone skulking out there. So they carved around the lake along the pebbled beach. Mireille thought it was a good chance to scout what they hadn't really explored. This side was more of a landslide than of grass and rock, curving up on both sides to jagged mountains. It almost looked squashed and flattened out, sinking, as if a giant stomped his foot there. A protruding hump of a peak was to the left, crowned with more rocky walls. Just what they needed—an open invitation to outsiders, to invaders, to enemies.

"We should secure this side somehow," said Mireille apprehensively.

"How? We have no means," said Kirika. "We can't just scout here on a daily basis, even if two were sent out here. It's just too risky, in case there was an ambush waiting."

"But someone's gotta do it. We can't just let enemies pour in. Even though it's a landslide, it's easier to climb down than anywhere else."

"We'll just have to keep an eye on it from afar, that's all."

"Speaking of which . . . I'm kinda disappointed," murmured Mirelle. "They haven't chased after us—."

"Mireille."

"Hm?" She turned, following Kirika's glance toward one of the gray boulders. It was tapered and lopsided to one side, but bulgy and tumorous on the other. Besides the one behind Etxarren, it was huge; almost as big as a hut. But when Kirika led Mireille around the boulder, they realized it _was_ a hut. The boulder served as the roof, on top of a low yet stable foundation of assembled rocks. A flimsy wooden door fitted perfectly into all that natural disorder.

From behind—with the surrounding, wild lumps of earth—it was an ordinary boulder among others. But walk around it, and you were greeted by a path of rocks that led to the door.

"How . . . could we have missed this?" gasped Mireille.

"More importantly . . . who's been living in it?" whispered Kirika.

Mireille turned to face Kirika—just as a bullet missed her. There was a _cluchunkg _in the stone hut behind her. By the time she reacted, Kirika was already shooting in response. Always five steps ahead, that one . . .

With the sudden smoke of gunfire, they were forced behind the stone hut. They fired back, then ducked again to reload. When they peeked around the corner, they saw Riki standing there on the beach.

Her shots didn't reach them, though. She was still far away, a dot in the distance, which explained why she missed. Noir observed where her shots burst around them. _Definitely_ improving. But when they looked up, she was veering around the water toward them to close the distance, to make her shots count.

Mireille gave a sweeping glance at the area. She didn't see Audriane or Sakuya. Either they were back at the Etxarren, or close by. Not being able to see them anywhere was all the more reason to be on edge.

They couldn't hide behind the boulder forever like sitting ducks. That's not how Noir ever worked. The battle had to continue.

Without a word, Mireille ran. Kirika followed, shooting over her shoulders at Riki. It was their only option, knowing Riki hadn't much practice with _moving_ targets. And with the way the lake curved, Riki would have to hit them while running, at a constantly moving angle, while bending around the bank. Recalling that her endurance wasn't all that striking, they figured she'd get winded.

"Count your bullets, they go faster than you think, kid," panted Mireille. She whirled around and shot back.

Riki threw herself to the ground, misleading them into thinking they actually killed her, which ignited them with adrenaline and panic. However, the student had landed on her back, shooting at them between her legs raised defensively in front of her. It was something they remembered Sakuya teaching Riki when fighting a knife-wielder.

In a fit of pride and vexation, Mireille fired back. She saw puffs of dirt around Riki, who scrambled to her feet and continued to run after them. Which was actually surprising.

There were no rocks in their presence. No cover. Just beach. Noir kept running, hoping the sand would slow Riki down, teach her a lesson about considering her environment.

That very thought backfired on Noir: Riki chased them across an awkward scarp; they were all practically wall-running along it. Leaning at an angle against the hillside, tripping or sliding, Noir tried to put distance between them and Riki. She persisted, however—this stubborn, insane dog behind them, groping along the rocky slope, tripping but clambering on all fours to pick up speed. Relentless. Almost terrifying. The most effort she ever showed ever since this all started.

Riki was gaining on Mireille just ahead of her. When she was close enough, she'd shoot. _Where_, she wondered? Leg? Arm? Did Noir want them to actually kill them?

The blonde jumped off the rocky slope back onto a thin strip of beach that met with an edge of grass. Riki followed; just as she landed behind Mireille, the assassin stopped abruptly, turning her gun on Riki, who nearly crashed into her. Bewildered, Riki froze. Behind her, Kirika—crouched against the rocks she had jumped over—stood up and revealed herself. She leveled her gun as well.

"When you're chasing someone, know where they are at all times," lectured Mireille. "You fell for a very simple trap."

"So did you."

Mireille whirled around at the sound of another voice. It was Sakuya, a dagger in each hand. There was another sound, of a familiar click. This time Mirelle looked over her shoulder to see that Riki aimed her gun. Everyone was now at gunpoint.

"I told you to stay out of this!" roared Riki, glaring at Sakuya over Mirelle's shoulders.

"I couldn't agree more," said Mireille, who fired and advanced toward Sakuya without hesitation.

"If you even _hurt_ her—!" roared Riki, but Kirika shot her gun out of her hands.

Riki cried out in pain at the sting in her fingers, and bent over. When she looked up, Kirika was already slide-tackling her in the dirt, crashing into her shins, sweeping her off her feet. Just as she'd practiced, Riki caught herself in a perfect roll, back on her feet. Again, Kirika was already in her face. She didn't shoot. Just kept kicking and swiping at her, no punches, no intentions on actually hitting her. It was a dodging lesson, how to take on an enemy obviously stronger and better than you. All Riki could do was step backwards and duck, or jump, or block with fists in front of her face. Each blow was bruising, or landed a scratch across her cheeks, a wind-blowing gut in the stomach, a crack or bending of the knees. Each very painful, nothing like the playful sparring with Sakuya. She'd been tough, but never did she try to hurt Riki . . .

When Kirika threw another punch, Riki did a kip—rolled backwards and sprang back to her feet. But Kirika followed up with a knee into her diaphragm, then a punch. Hot with adrenaline, Riki slid to the side, stepped around her, and spun, almost off Kirika's back. Then, gathering all the energy into her legs, she mustered the biggest jump and kicked sideways into the back of Kirika's head with both feet. It sent the older Japanese staggering forward, with a kitten-like whimper that almost made Riki regret it. However, Kirika used her stumbling momentum by running toward a rock and side-stepping off it, catapulting into Riki.

Meanwhile, Sakuya's graceful dodging had forced Mireille to resort to combat. She couldn't afford wasting any more bullets in a close-range battle going nowhere, so she chased after Sakuya. However, the Third only teased her, bouncing swiftly between angular rocks as if merely stepping on them. She vaulted smoothly over rocks, from one side to the other, confusing Mireille. With flips and twists, leaping and rolling along her back, onto her feet. Taking advantage of the clustered terrain and her agility. Such prowess—almost everything Mireille dreamed of for Riki and Audriane . . .

The Corsican refused to let this blind her with rage. She ducked behind a boulder, pulling out her gun. She would have none of this mockery. None of this tiring, endless cat-and-mouse.

There were only so many rocks Sakuya could rely on—she couldn't hide behind each of them or hop-scotch forever. Mireille shot up and whipped her gun out, resting it on the head of the boulder.

But Sakuya was running away. Back toward the Etxarren.

Mireille couldn't contain herself as she gasped, _"Bitch!"_

Riki had been watching too. _How could she just help me, then _leave_ me!_

Suddenly Kirika pinned Riki against a boulder. Riki immediately detached from her, and rolled out of the way across the boulder, during which she smacked Kirika in the nose. She ran for her fallen gun, charging blindly through a throw of sand and pebbles from Mireille's gunfire—and dove.

She rolled. Grabbed her gun. And did a one-handed handstand. Hand flat against the ground, the other hand firing her gun. The bullet grazed Mireille on the side of her leg, just below her hip. She buckled to her knees and attempted to fire back, but the torn muscles were like a wolf biting into her flesh. One of her shots barely missed Riki, who dropped into a smooth, soundless roll from her handstand and continued to run back to Etxarren.

"Makes you regret the handstands now, doesn't it?" said Kirika, inspecting the red gash in Mireille's jeans. "Can you walk?"

Her friend leaned a hand against the rock, dragging her leg while hopping on the other. She winced, unable to apply too much pressure.

"Just like we taught them, right?" hissed Mireille, face knotted in discomfort.

"Embrace it, Mireille—that they're getting better, that they'll be the next Noir."

The blonde cocked her gun, smirking. "Geez, Kirika, the battle's not over yet."

Their advance toward Etxarren was slow and vigilant, especially with Mireille unable to cover ground that fast. She limped the whole way, roaring in agony or frustration, it was hard to tell. Despite their delayed approach—not seeing or knowing where the Three Saplings went and if they were actually in the Etxarren—they were grateful it won them time to recover, and for Mireille to catch her breath.

With the Etxarren in sight but still so far, they stopped and listened. No gunfire or angsty teenager rants. Just the mountain song of birds and wind.

When they looked to the windows for any sign of movement, they raised their eyebrows.

Kirika craned her neck. "Is . . . that our bathroom towel?"

Mireille growled in annoyance. "Split up," she ordered.

"But your leg—."

"I think we've been through worse," chuckled Mireille. "I'll slink around from the back, you advance and keep them distracted. We'll close in on them from both sides."

"You know it could be a trap."

"Definitely. But I'm done with waiting it out. We didn't teach them to cower in the shadows, we taught them to _fight_."

Kirika shook her head as if to correct Mireille. "That's Noir in the shadows for ya."

…

As Kirika drew closer to Etxarren, the absence of gunfire reassured her to lower her gun. She stared at the front door. It was slightly ajar. How eerie and unlike the children. But she sucked in a great amount of air and walked in, slowly creaking the door apart to slip through. Gun parallel to her face, she tiptoed inside, and was confounded by the mess that greeted her.

Although big-looking from the outside, their home had the smaller-than-average living room. That gigantic dining table that took up the center of it had been tipped over, the surface facing Kirika. The two woven, wiry chairs in the corner to the left of the entrance were sandwiched together, also tilted and draped. The tall wooden cabinet had been dragged from its corner, as if to make space for anyone hiding behind it. The love seat remained on its feet, but it blocked the doorway to the small kitchen. Nowhere to be seen, the chest that had been in front of the love seat. And the fireplace, just barely lit.

And at every doorframe, a blanket or sheet hung. So she couldn't see into the room behind them, but _they_ could still see her approaching. It didn't make much sense, but she reckoned whatever eased the first-timers' nerves.

Kirika was glad Mireille wasn't here; her partner tended to be more forward and noisy in her stealth. With all these boogie-traps, blockades, and sound alarms, Kirika couldn't afford to give them the slightest hint that she was alone, that Mireille was coming in from somewhere else.

The silence didn't enable Kirika to relax, only question. She knew better, that any slight sound would give away her exact location in these confined quarters. Wherever the Saplings were hiding, they'd know exactly where she was.

She scanned the windows. They were covered with just as she thought, all their towels or washcloths. Whatever kept Noir from peering inside Etxarren but allowed the Saplings to watch their moves.

And the hanging silverware tapping against the windows. Sound alarms, in case Noir tried to sneak through the windows.

_So . . . paranoid,_ she thought. Nothing but obstacles getting in the way, even for the Saplings. She assumed that was the point, though—a maze of guesses and traps and alarms. How frantic and stressful and aggravating it must have been to put this all together.

Kirika pasted herself against the wall of the living room, peeking into the kitchen. _Just one room at a time._ She saw their small kitchen pots and pans hanging on the windows inside. But no sign of anyone here . . .

She remembered the blueprint of the house: a living room, a connecting kitchen to the stairs, and a small bathroom between the two bedrooms. So, all that was really left was upstairs.

…

Mireille remained glued to the outside wall, crouching under the first-floor windows. She was frustrated not being able to look into the house thanks to the fabric blocking her view, so she had tried to open them. When she had heard things crash to the floor, she bolted for the other side of Etxarren. Over there, she was cautious of the board sticking out from the exterior wall. She noted the girls had the nerve to use some of her clothes for cover over the bedside tables positioned on the board, and made a mental note of that.

She aimed her gun up at the erected board as she passed underneath it and made way to the back of the boulder. She started climbing its arching spine, with the help of useful crevices and shapely rocks for handholds and grip. Once at the top, she army-crawled the rough surface to get a bird's eye view on the matter.

And standing there on the smooth, pale roof was Sakuya.

Mireille stood up and aimed her gun. She called out to her: "Enough toying with us. Either you're with us, or you're not."

Sakuya turned around, without the slightest shock. "Sorry," she said, smiling weakly, "I've been ordered to not engage."

"I don't like hearing about your superiors but never getting to learn anything about them. Start talking."

"I mean, the other two ordered me," said Sakuya. "Speaking of which, aren't you in the middle of testing them? My main concern right now would be them, not me."

"Kirika has the reins. Now that you and I have some privacy, we can finally get to know each other."

"If you want to chat, come join me. We can sit here on the roof while they work it out."

Mireille kept her gun on Sakuya while she slowly felt her way around. The sheer from the top of the boulder to the roof was risky. Closer to the edge of the boulder, she found easier footing and climbed down, then jumped off to ensure Sakuya didn't use that as a chance to move.

As she inched forward, Mireille asked, "So. Tell me some things. First, do you know anything about a stone hut across the lake?"

Sakuya's face fell. Then, it lit up. "Oh yeah—_yeah_. Well, sort of. I _mean_, living-in-the-hut part." Her posture relaxed as she shifted weight into one foot. "Sometimes after helping with training, I'd sleep in that hut if I was too tired to go home."

"Why didn't you tell us about it?" snapped Mireille.

"I didn't think it was a big deal—plus, I've only used it occasionally. It's not actually mine or anything."

"What do you mean by that? Have you been sharing with the enemy?"

"Ewe, no. What I mean is, it's been there for a while, too. Like the Etxarren. I'm just guessing it's a Basque thing—or some shepard thing, or something." Sakuya shrugged. "I don't know."

Mireille didn't believe her, but she didn't want to forget her next question. "When you say 'home', where is that exactly?" She stepped a little closer.

"Actually, you'll get to see it soon." Sakuya smiled, but almost reluctantly, as if she wasn't sure if she was allowed to.

Mireille narrowed her eyes. "You see, I hate that. Your smile. Your nonchalance. The previous Third smiled like that, but at least it was genuinely eerie. I knew right away not to trust her. But you . . . you're such a sweet girl, I can't tell whether to trust you or not."

Sakuya sighed in defeat. "Well, I don't blame you. You have every right not to trust anyone but your own. You protect your own, and I respect you for that." She paused, and a grin slowly creased her lips. "Wait, did you actually _know_ the previous Third—?"

There was crumbling and chaffing. Mireille looked around. Sakuya's whole aura switched gears as she beamed victoriously, and ducked. From behind her, something dark lurched out of the chimney. Its battle cry was almost demon-like, that Mireille stumbled backwards, discombobulated. She gasped out to the searing pain in her leg and collapsed to the ground.

"When's the last time you had a gun pressed against _your_ chest?" scoffed Riki.

…..

Kirika lifted the blanket hanging in the doorway, and peeked through the kitchen to the staircase. No one. She took her time walking to the bottom of the stairs, and looked up. There, at the top, was the missing chest from in front of the love seat.

She eyed it suspiciously. She hesitated to step onto the creaking staircase. Like it was a murderer awaiting her arrival. Any second, someone behind the chest could send it crashing down at her. Or fire at her at the same time, however they see fit. What an intriguing tactic: attack and defend at the same time. Without wasting ammo.

She couldn't afford her last round of bullets, either. So she started running up the stairs, hoping a single shot right through the chest would be enough, but wouldn't hit anything vital.

However, she reached the top. Nothing had moved, no one had fired at her, she didn't get knocked down. Her adrenaline spiked as she crouched, aiming at the bathroom, then the two bedrooms across from each other. She crept toward the opened bathroom and parted the shower curtains of the bathtub. Again, no one. She then made her way to the girls' bedrooms. She saw the fortification of beds and drawers, but no one shot at her. In the master bedroom where she and Mireille slept, no one was in or behind their wardrobe, or their queen-sized bed, or their closet.

Kirika heard voices on the roof. She rushed down the stairs, now knowing no one was in the house, yet anticipated the Saplings at the entrance or by the windows . . .

All that fortification—just to psyche them, have them charge in with guns blazing, just to get the two of them inside with nowhere to run! Right where they wanted them!

Except Mireille wasn't with her. She had to warn her not come inside no matter how tight her situation got outside . . .

Voices again, this time hallow. Kirika stopped by the fireplace. They were coming from the rooftop, audible through the chimney. With her foot, Kirika stomped out the dying fire to listen and see if it was the Saplings. She leaned into the throat of the chimney. She recognized Mireille's voice, then Sakuya's. And Riki's!

Kirika couldn't help but worry. This "test" thrown unto them had been impulsive, thanks to Riki. She and Mireille had never discussed what to do when faced with the Saplings. Did Mireille expect her to shoot at the Saplings, or that Mireille's capture would mean both their surrenders? Or did Kirika have to be cornered, too, for this mock battle to end?

But as Kirika turned to rush to the exit, she heard scratching, followed by a thud. She turned around in time to see a body roll out of the fireplace—then, a gun set on her.

"Game over, Kirika," said Audriane. "We're going to Laguardia."


	22. Chapter 22: Sentiments

Chapter 22

Sentiments

"I don't see how you can even call that 'fighting'!" said Mireille, wincing once more as Stefan stitched up her flesh wound.

"How could you not?" argued Riki. "I'm the one that chased you and took you _both_ on—I'm the one who shot you! Fought you! A.K.A. kicked your pretty polished ass!"

"As assassins for hire, you do not have that luxury to make such elaborate plans. _Really_, fortifications, sound alarms, waiting around—destroying our home—?"

"Stay still, Ms. Bouquet," grunted Stefan, who had Kirika restrain Mireille's legs by the ankles.

"You said nothing about rules against using our _brains_—!" shouted Riki.

"There is no time for thinking, just acting. Not reacting, _acting_! Take them down before more reinforcements arrive, don't give them time to surround you."

"It was either you run into our trap, or us running after you into yours!" said Riki.

"Mireille," interrupted Kirika, "it doesn't matter how they did it. They did it."

"Without wasting ammo," added Audriane, who was just as fed up with Mireille's rampage as everyone else. "Without killing anyone. We kept it simple, and clean."

Before Mireille could object, Kirika asked, "So that was your plan all along? Draw us into the Etxarren, confuse us out with all the fortification, wait for someone to douse out the fireplace to signal when to attack, then—roll out the fireplace?"

"Ho, ho, ho," said Riki, half-heartily.

Kirika smiled at the chimney tactic. "It must have been exhausting to stay wedged in there."

"Actually, perfect fit," said Audriane. "With all our training, we strong enough to squat there. To hold so long."

"Nothing but muscle," boasted Riki, yet she didn't keep her burning glare off Mireille.

"And the Third was just there to piss me off, nothing else," sighed Mireille, not even bothering to acknowledge the Third, who lingered behind with the two Knights that came along with Stefan. It certainly didn't lessen Mireille's pique.

"It's not Sakuya's fault that you're blind with irrational rage," said Riki.

"_I'm_ not the blind one," began Mireille. "It's not like I haven't noticed how close you two have been getting—."

"Ok, THAT'S IT," blurted Sakuya, walking toward Mireille, knife shining across the air like a silver dash. At the same time, Mireille gladly met her half-way, gun raised—except she stumbled, down to one knee, crying out to the tug of Stefan's incomplete stitches. In fact, it tore. Terrified, Kirika pulled her back while Riki and Audriane intercepted both women.

Even Riki flinched sympathetically at the opening in Mireille's leg. She turned to Sakuya. "Ok, seconds ago it was fine to rage—but now it _isn't_ the time . . ."

Her sudden change of mood made Sakuya more strident. "No, I'm done holding back! I've done nothing but _smile_ while taking the name-calling, the condescendence. I'm sick of you all treating me like I'm some walking disease, like I'm not even human! I came from the same high school as Riki and Audriane. I was a student, too—_human_. So very _sorry_ that someone else got to me first, didn't know that was inconvenient to you. How inconsiderate of me—!"

"Hey, hey, you're right," consoled Riki, giving her an understanding but stern nod. "You're _right_." She turned to everyone else. "With Sakuya's help, we've progressed. No offense intended. With that said, I think it's about time the _three_ of us were rewarded, with some sort of level of praise, or recognition, or—?"

_"Laguardia?"_ finished Audriane.

"Can we discuss this later?" began Kirika, slightly baffled by their inconsideration of Mireille's condition.

But the Corsican interrupted, "NO, let them vent." Kirika knew Mireille only wanted to feed off the indignation.

Sakuya pointed at each of them, starting with Mireille. "I'm a good fighter, I'm a 'Third', and, lucky for you, a _nice_ Third—not some centuries-old psycho reaper. I actually happen to want to _befriend_ my own classmates, ok? And you, Kirika. Stop letting Mireille bully everyone around—that includes you. Speak up. _Audriane_, I know you're desperate to get better, and you make up for it by being fierce and protective of Riki, and I completely understand that, but it doesn't give you the right to judge me. We're not in high school, and I _hate_ saying that. So please. Can we all get along, now?"

It was as if cotton plugged their ears, the silence so palpable. The petulance, grating against their hearts. Stefan took advantage of this, clearing his throat nervously as he finished sewing up Mirelle's gash and told her to watch it closely. She was too livid to feel it or care. Meanwhile, Kirika saw how fraught Sakuya became—rigid, and almost pouty, like any other teenager. It was just a glimpse of it, though. She didn't forget how well Sakuya moved, so she didn't know how to feel.

_Get along?_ thought Audriane, shocked by two Saplings' misconceptions.

Audriane murmured, "No . . . NO_._ We can't. You said so yourself when we first met—that it wasn't that simple. I wish so. But Riki and I got into this mess together, and we get out of it together. I'm sorry, but if I get to know you, l understand you, and it harder to kill you."

Riki put a hand on Audriane's shoulder. "Hey, hey, hey," she began, "that's not who we are. We just proved to Mireille and Kirika that we could end a battle without any serious damage. We can end these Trials our way, not the Soldats'. We won't become one of them. We won't kill each other _for_ them."

Audriane strained with emotion. "But does Sakuya agree with that?" She searched Riki's eyes for any sign of resistance, hesitation, devotion, to whomever it was.

"Well that escalated quickly," said Mireille, who had clearly calmed down, entertained by the tirade. "Gives you an idea of what you look like when you're hot-headed. Doesn't it?"

Riki pointed to herself. "Who, me?"

Mireille continued without answering. "Listen to your partner. For now, you're just gonna have to trust her. We can't loiter in self-delusion that everyone can just walk away from this as best friends. It's going to get messy, and people _will_ get hurt. Sacrifices have to be made, we just don't know what we will lose along the way. And _that_, you must be ready for, too."

Riki glowered. "Didn't you say one can only be 'ready enough'?"

"You remembered." A tad of praise.

"I also remembered to . . . save the hatred for the enemy."

Again, there it was. That familiar feeling Mireille and Kirika had felt now and then. Where have they felt it before?

Riki started to walk away. "Well, if we're 'ready enough', then I guess, onward to Laguardia—."

"No," said Mireille, standing up but staggering.

Riki eyed her limp, and released an empty laugh. "Ok." She started toward Stefan, with Sakuya walking alongside.

But when Audriane followed, Riki stopped her.

"Look. Audriane." She sighed. "We're all angry. I think it's best if you stay away. I can't have you and Sakuya near each other until this heat passes."

Audriane's face had been so sore from all that disapproving frowning, that it worsened when Riki said that. She couldn't say anything, though.

"Please understand, Audriane. From friend to friend, right?"

"'After everything we went through? Of course'," quoted Audriane, feeling a whirlwind of emotions.

"Please do this for me. Learn to trust me—and that means trusting Sakuya."

Audriane fell silent. She forced a faint nod.

"Everything's going to be fine; I know you're scared. But we're the Three Saplings! Let's keep it that way." Riki nudged Audriane in the arm. "Look, I know what you're thinking. That I've been a hypocrite, I've done the same thing you're doing right now: being mistrustful, rebellious, agitating, unpredictable. But you said we have to work together—and you know that's gonna include Sakuya. Please, it's all I will ever ask."

Audriane couldn't believe it took Sakuya to bring out this more reasonable side of Riki. She couldn't tell if it was a miracle . . . or worse.

She said nothing, and Riki didn't know what else to say, so she and Sakuya merged toward Stefan. He leaned against the very first car they had seen for who knows how long—the first one the Soldats ever bothered to show up in, proving that indeed, there had to been civilization a driving distance away. Made them wonder where Shirihime has been this whole time.

Mireille and Kirika watched from afar, eyes trailing Audriane as she finally entered Etxarren.

Kirika linked arms with Mireille to support her. "Don't fight it."

"I'm fine," growled Mireille, glaring after Riki, "but _her_, on the other hand—!"

"Don't fight it," repeated Kirika. "You can't stop them. You . . . can't protect them, Mireille."

Kirika saw something soften in her friend. It was gone, though, like watching light shift in water before it hardened to a cooler blue-gray. They both watched Riki converse with Stefan rather brusquely, something about teaching them to drive, and him saying something about Laguardia not allowing cars anyway so what was the point.

Mireille murmured, "They can't _ever_ believe that anyone will save them."

Kirika nodded. "So stop trying to protect them from what's out there."

"I'm not."

Kirika knew the real answer, though.

….

Riki remembered Mireille mentioning something about a stone hut, so she had Sakuya show it to her. She found it hysterical that professionals like Mireille and Kirika hadn't noticed it before, but then again, neither she nor Audriane really examined this far side. She felt around the boulder all the way to the door, and stopped. Turned to Sakuya, tried to read her.

"Do you think we made a good team? Against Mireille and Kirika?" she asked.

Sakuya smiled. "I know so." Hesitation. "But then again, you and Audriane did well, too."

Riki frowned. "I'm sorry about that, by the way."

This time, Sakuya was illegible. Everyone's warnings about her clouded Riki's mind, made it hard to think. Made looking at Sakuya, who didn't receive a scratch or bruise—at least not any new ones—harder to look at. Made her wonder what Sakuya went through to get this good. And why she was still here, not over _there_.

"Tell me the truth," said Riki. "Why are you really here? Helping us? After attacking us that time?"

Reticent.

"I was here to kill you," said Sakuya, wrestling with her words, "but like I said, I didn't know it was you."

"But now that you do, you still plan on killing us?" Riki dove into Sakuya's eyes, pushing against the solid blue wall in them that fought back.

"I don't want to," said Sakuya.

It was not a comforting answer at all. Her words were like a dent in Riki's heart.

Without thinking, Riki grabbed her hand. Both girls tensed, yet with ambivalence.

"What are you doing?" asked Sakuya.

Riki withdrew her hand. "Glad you don't have killer reflexes."

"You did that to see if I'd kill you?"

"But you didn't. So that's a relief."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? Because I don't wanna see anything happen to you."

Sakuya looked like she was trying to decide whether to smile or not. "This is nothing against your ego, but . . . you're worried about _me_? Why?"

"Why else?" snapped Riki. "Don't ask a stupid question when the answer is obvious! Is it that much of a surprise that I actually have feelings?" Sakuya chuckled, but Riki cut her off. "No, seriously! I just don't want to see anything happen to _any_ of us! Because all of this is wrong!" She looked like she was going to grab Sakuya's shoulders, but her hands jerked back—trembled—as if shackled. "I didn't trust my own trainers, I didn't pity their situation over ours because they were just as part of this as the Soldats are. And so are _you_! But dammit, you're a good person, and I hate that—because it makes it harder to hate you, to just say, 'Hell yeah, I'll kill some classmates!' You're no different!"

Sakuya recoiled, not sure how to react to such accusation.

"You are no different," said Riki, "if you continue to hesitate on making the right choice. And that is, to not play their games. Train with us—_fight_ with us, and we can end this together! Us against them, remember?"

Sakuya was wordless.

Riki threw her hands up. "What's wrong? THAT, right there! That face! Why do you make that face? What's out there that's preventing you from joining our cause? C'mon, tell me how you feel—_I'm_ telling you how I feel—I mean, _what?_—did you forget what emotions are? You're so powerful and high-mighty that you forgot that there are some us _beneath_ you that feel helpless? Suffocated? Confused, angry, hurt? Desperate? How the hell did Ojiru end up falling in love with a corpse like _you_!"

Sakuya's nebulous eyes turned from hard to wet and shining. Riki cared, but didn't. Because it wasn't about what they lost anymore, it was about whatever Sakuya had right _now_—whatever stood between Riki and her.

Riki repeated, "Why won't you join us?"

"In what?" whispered Sakuya. "Taking on the Soldats? You don't understand who they are, what you're up against."

"I won't unless you explain to me."

"I'm _trying_ to," pleaded Sakuya. "Riki, they have connections _everywhere_. You don't know what you're up against."

"And _they_ don't know what they're up against!"

"What, you've got a plan? You think you can take them? At least _I'm_ not misled in confidence like that, like you." Sakuya exhaled, smoothing back her hair behind her ears in thought. "Riki, if you think you're the first one to rebel against the Soldats, you're wrong."

"What does that even mean?"

"You're not the first to rebel. I suggest you look it up. I _mean_ it, look it up."

"_You_ know things, I know you do," said Riki, giving her a look. "Why not tell me now?"

"There isn't anything to know about them. It's simple—the Soldats are to not be taken lightly. Besides, I'm not going to hold your hand through everything, like I said." Sakuya raised an eyebrow, as if to make a point. "You and Audriane are a team. You need to learn on your own, figure things out yourself."

"So you've got everything figured out, is that way you're saying?" Sarcasm.

Sakuya's laugh was full of venom. "What's with you taking everything personally? You're a running muck of emotions. When you need to think, _instead_, you act on what you feel. Don't let emotions consume you."

"If people are trying to kill me and those I care about, of COURSE I'm going to take it personally!" shouted Riki. "And you're one to talk, you and your cool demeanor—yet you're hiding something! You've got something to protect and you won't tell me! _Me_, out of everyone here! In fact, I don't even understand why you're here if you say that the Soldats are so bad. Couldn't they punish you for being here? So why? What are you doing here?"

"Maybe I don't want to see anything happen to you either!" burst Sakuya.

Riki felt hot. She couldn't tell why, though.

"There. See, was that so hard?" said Riki. "I care about you, you care about me. It's only human, right? So, anything else you want to get off your chest? If we're going to continue working together—and that includes Audriane, my partner—we can't let feelings locked in or they'll build up and will explode like . . . well, an explosion."

Riki snorted at herself, her smile feeble. She was relieved that Sakuya, even though she didn't laugh, had that soft look in her eyes as she shook her head and raised her eyebrows. However, she said nothing. Stumped, Riki shook her head, and walked away.

She could hear Sakuya flaring through her nostrils behind her. "Well . . . do you at least want to see what's inside the hut?"

"It's just a pile of rocks," said Riki, her voice faded as she continued toward Etxarren.

When she felt a hand tug her wrist, Riki spun around, only to freeze in captivation, by eyes she admired, so close . . .

"Look," said Sakuya, "I know I said I wouldn't hold your hand through every little thing . . ." She slowly pulled Riki back toward the hut. "But I _will_ show you this, even if you'll tug and squirm, being pissed and all."

Riki followed, loving this very moment, but hating that even in her seething mood, she would listen to anything Sakuya said.

"You'll want to see this," said Sakuya, pushing the door open.

….

Stefan and his Knights helped rearrange all the furniture in the Etxarren. At first, Mireille refused to let them go anywhere inside, suspecting he was going to take notes of their training and relay it to Shirihime. He said she was right, but nonetheless, convinced her it'd be fun for her to order them around. Kirika and Audriane agreed, finding it would let her vent after all that controversy.

Not too far into the cleanup, Riki and Sakuya joined them. Audriane smiled pathetically at Sakuya as a way to apologize, who nodded curtly, then focused on helping Stefan putting all silverware and pots and pans back.

"I saw that," said Mireille.

"What?" asked Audriane. "By the way, help me make the bed—?"

"You tore this place apart, you put it back together." Mireille switched from cleaning to packing, for Laguardia. "Anyway, I saw you kiss up to that Third. Why?"

Audriane looked to the bedroom door and saw that no one else was nearby. "I don't think she a bad person," she murmured. "Really, I don't. She's sweet. Maybe that's why I hate her—because it makes it harder to want to kill her. I never wanted to, either. But I know I have to. It's no one's fault."

"She seems set on what she has to do," muttered Mireille.

"Huh?"

"Meaning, it seems like she's just part of the Soldats' plans as anyone else."

"You're no different," said Audriane, feeling a sudden slash of anger. This silenced Mireille, who continued to rummage through her wardrobe. "Look. I don't trust her, but . . . I don't want to upset Riki either. I can make it work."

"That's awfully mature of you. Ya know, knowing your history with Riki . . ."

Audriane paused, a smile tugging at her. "Didn't . . . Kirika say that you weren't so nice to her at first, either?"

Mireille turned, hand on her hip, scowling Audriane's back as the freshman made their master bed. But she sighed, and turned around without further argument.

"What's with that?" pondered Audriane. "Why do we pursue someone who looks the other way—who doesn't notice us, who doesn't appreciate us, who doesn't need us?"

"You're asking the wrong person."

Both of them looked to the doorway. Kirika stood there, smiling. Ignoring her, Mireille went back to her business. Her partner stayed where she was, leaning into the doorframe, hands in her sweater. She closed her eyes nostalgically.

"I remember Mireille in the old days," began Kirika.

_"Still in my twenties,"_ said Mireille.

"I think," continued Kirika. "I think . . . it's all about being _the one_. Our selfish ambition to be the one who can breaks their fortress. You want to be the only person they let in. You want to be their everything, because they're your everything. Like unlocking a secret. The treasure's yours, and only yours."

Mireille leaned against the wall, as if exhausted already. She crossed her arms, eyes closed, but smiled. "Is that so?"

Kirika shrugged, but her eyes glowed.

"I suppose that's how it is with Riki, the way she looks at Sakuya," said Mireille, looking at Audriane.

"Not . . . like _philia_," said Audriane inaudibly.

"Hm?"

Should Audriane say something she couldn't prove? "Philia," she declared, "meaning love. A term usually translated as 'friendship' or 'affection'."

"So what are you saying?"

Audriane said nothing. Noir didn't know what it was but it clearly bothered Audriane, so Mireille slightly deflected it to herself.

"If it makes you feel any better, I know how you feel. Your jealousy of Riki's devotion to the Third. When you go through something, _anything_, with that one person, you don't want to lose them. They're the only one who understands what you went through. They're all you've got." Mireille did whatever it took to not look Kirika in the eye. They didn't talk about Chloe much.

"I think she's just trying to win her trust and devotion," said Kirika. "So she doesn't have to kill her. She wants to bring her to our side. Makes you wonder who her superiors are."

"We'll get those answers, finally," said Audriane, trying to hype herself. "In Laguardia."

"Makes you appreciate technology, doesn't it?" said Mireille, who went back to rummaging through her drawers. Watching her, Audriane wondered how long they were going to be in Laguardia, if they were ever coming back to Etxarren.

Audriane teased her. "You excited?"

"I suppose I am," said Mireille. "I could use a spa or some room service. Or even a big fat burger." She impatiently tossed makeup into her white-striped pink purse, but when she missed, she tried to catch her falling mascara, only to knock her purse to the floor. Things clattered and scattered, strewn in the corners, under the drawer, the wardrobe, the bed; brushes, a pocket mirror, packaged tissue paper, coins, cash, even Mireille's gun.

As Audriane helped, she lay on her stomach to put her hand under the bed to make sure nothing went under.

She felt something cool and round, and dragged it out. "Oh wow, a pocketwatch," she declared. "So pretty. So . . . old."

She revealed it to the others, not realizing how quiet it got as she turned it in her hands. With a finger, she felt the ornate lid, which depicted two partially nude women in loose Greek-style robes, facing each other with swords held high.

"Huh," she said cheerfully, "looks like you had to replace the chain with a new one. Greek or something?" She looked to the older women for an answer, who only shrugged. "I bet we could get this fixed somewhere in Laguardia. Where you get it?" She smiled at Mireille.

However, Riki and Sakuya strode in.

When Riki saw the partial mess, she chuckled. "And you said _we_ destroyed the place." She saw Audriane holding the pocketwatch. "What's that?"

"Ooh, me too," said Sakuya innocently, as they both crowded around Audriane.

"It was a gift from my father," blurted Mireille, joining them as casually as she could. Kirika could tell she didn't want to arouse questions—that despite everything they've overcome, that pocketwatch was still a trigger to their post-traumatic stress.

"Awe, how sweet," said Sakuya.

Mireille's heart felt hot and cold at the same time, especially as the children opened it. The pocketwatch face was cracked.

They only got to gaze at it for a mere few seconds before Mireille extended her hand. As casually as she could. Audriane gingerly returned it, and watched the Corsican stuff it away into her purse.

"Well," said Mireille, "we're almost done cleaning up. Pack quickly. Stefan offered to drive us to Laguardia."

"That's a first," said Kirika.

"What was the point of cleaning? We're not coming back to this rubble, are we?" asked Riki.

Audriane nudged her. "You have to admit, it's like home."

Riki made a face, and said, _"Temporary."_ Both Sakuya and Audriane looked at her.

"Trust me," said Sakuya, "what you're about to face in Lagaurdia will make you appreciate the isolated beauty you have here." To Audriane, at least they both had one thing in common: the admiration for the mountains.

Mireille faked a wide smile. "What's in Laguardia, Sakuya?"

The sophomore raised her eyebrows. "At least you called me by my real name. That's something—."

"What's in Laguardia, SAKUYA?" repeated Mireille.

"It's a historical beauty," said Sakuya. "Consider yourself privileged for touring such sacred grounds. _You'll_ see so for yourself, I'm not your babysitter."

Mireille looked to Riki. "Please. Tell me. You're not really thinking of . . . bringing her along with us?"

Riki grinned. "Who's the child now? Of course she is."

"No she's not," said Mireille.

"No I'm not," said Sakuya.

"Yes she—WHY?" protested Riki.

"Because this is your journey, not mine. Don't worry, you'll see me around," said Sakuya, trying to forge the strongest smile.

"And what you be doing?" asked Audriane.

Sakuya tried not to roll her eyes. "I've got my own problems."


	23. Chapter 23: Unfamiliar

**Author's Note: **here's some Basque country music! watch?v=aVmFTM4PlmI

Chapter 23

Unfamiliar

"So what's the first thing you're going to do when you get there?" asked Riki.

Audriane beamed excitedly. "Eat lots of ice-cream. You?"

"Watch lots of fucking TV."

"New clothes would be nice."

Riki paused. "I think I'll drink while I'm at it."

"You under-aged!"

"I believe it was _you_ who said the world didn't care if we were children."

Audriane didn't resist. "You right. I have some too."

Riki sniggered. "_You?_ Goodie-tooshies?"

"I was never an _angel_, if that what you thought of me. And we not children, we teenagers! There's a difference!"

"In Spain, the drinking consumption age used to be sixteen," said Stefan, their chauffeur. "Now, it's eighteen."

"Same in France," added Mireille indifferently.

"But we're in the Cantabrians—part of the Pyrenees, right?" said Riki. "So, that puts us in the border between Spain and France. Which means . . . no one gives a shit."

She and Audriane chuckled.

"Why not," said Stefan, shrugging. "The Rioja wines are to die for. They can try out the wine bars all over the town."

Audriane beamed at Kirika sitting in between them. "What about you?"

"I'd like to explore," said Kirika thoughtfully.

"Chilling by the pool," added Riki. "Shopping. Eating real food for sure—hell, I could care less about the wine. I want real _food_."

"The Etxarren garden _was_ real food," interrupted Mireille. "Also—we should hit the library and the computers as soon as we can."

_"Booo!"_ blurted Riki. "Responsibilities and research, booo!"

Mireille sank in the passenger's seat, muttering, "You're so immature."

"Because I want to have fun?" said Riki, bug-eyed. "You don't have to be a child to have fun. No one will give shit once we step in Laguardia—we're all going to relax, party, mingle. Learn to connect with the world again."

"It's gonna feel so weird, seeing people for the first time in a long time," murmured Audriane, eyes shining with anticipation. "But I can't wait."

"Thought you were princess of the forest," joked Riki.

"_Still_, human connection is important."

"Just remember to trust no one—," began Mireille.

"Boooo!" said Riki, prodding the back of Mireille's seat with her foot. "Boo, boo, boo!" _Squeak, squeak, squeak!_

The blonde scooted closer to her own window, as if for protection.

"Boo! C'mon, Audriane, say it with me," said Riki. "Boo!"

Audriane snuck a whisper into Mireille's ear closest to the window. "Booo!" She and Riki burst out laughing when Mireille slightly jumped in her seat. It didn't take Stefan much composure before he started laughing his own geeky, nasally note. Kirika giggled, too. The Corsican turned around, giving her wide eyes that said, _Seriously? _Her friend tried not to smile, then figured the best way to save her was by getting Mireille contribute to the conversation.

"What about you, Mireille?" asked Kirika.

"What _about_ me?" Her partner leaned against the window, ignoring them.

"What do you plan on doing when we get to Laguardia?"

Pause. "I suppose . . . a nice, long, hot, bubble bath."

Kirika smiled. "That sounds nice."

"See?" exclaimed Riki. "You want to have fun, too!"

Mireille sighed in defeat. "I suppose I could take this as a chance to get a massage. Get away from you."

"I don't blame ya," said Riki. "I'd want time alone away from you, too." She slapped her own thigh as if it was the first and only joke she'd heard for years.

Mireille glanced sideways at their chauffeur, a brunette, who was trying to suppress a grin as he focused on the road. Stefan was an awkward, yet sweet-looking man, with a small hawkish nose high above his thin mouth that always looked like a frown even with that relaxed expression; eyes small and squinty, and peruse, yet gentle, behind round glasses. A tuft of sweaty bangs stuck out in the middle of his large forehead due to his short haircut.

The Corsican looked in the side mirror back at the Soldat car following them, full of Stefan's guards dressed in civilian clothing to avoid attention wherever they went. Mireille looked back at Stefan, who met her glance.

"Ah Mireille, don't worry about them," he said.

Hearing a Soldat say her name was unusual. It didn't sound right from him, but it wasn't like poison either. Of all the strangers they had met, she noticed the children responded most positively to him. They didn't seem that threatened by his every now and then presence.

"Mireille?" repeated Stefan.

She decided to express her thoughts to him. "It's weird hearing a Soldat say my name."

"Well, it's your name, isn't it?"

Kirika perked up. "That which has a name exists."

"Very good!" said Stefan, tempted to look over his shoulders at Kirika.

"Are you Basque?" asked Kirika.

"She's been studying," announced Mireille.

"Just a bit," answered Stefan. "Not everyone in the Basque Country is fully Basque. They've mixed with the Spanish and the French over the centuries, and many others. One of their many ways to preserve their culture, to survive. Once, even their language was suppressed. Only Castillian was allowed. As you know, the Basque language is unlike any other—their blazing pride—so you can bet that was a difficult time for them under the rule of Francisco Franco. Supposedly, he was very close with Hitler, and a dictator himself, too . . ."

"And _Guernica_?" said Kirika.

"Yes, that was another horrid time for the Basques," said Stefan. "You should see the painting some time. It's in the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, Spain's national museum of 2oth-century art. In Madrid."

"We landed in Madrid when we arrived in Spain," said Kirika, disappointed.

"All in time," said Stefan.

"We could go when this is all over," said Audriane cheerfully, as if to comfort Kirika.

But her words only snuffed out all sound, like fire from a candle. All they could hear was the rattling of the internal gears, the scraping and thumping of the road. As if to butter the mood, Riki snorted "Audripedia" at Audriane's museum suggestion.

"Sounds like the Basques have been through quite a bit," said Mireille conversationally.

"Every country has its history," said Stefan.

"What's yours?"

The doctor hesitated. "It's boring. I've been with Sir Asher for quite some time."

"Which means you won't tell us anything about him, am I right?"

"Indubitably."

"You Soldats are all the same—Saplings, doctors, Sir's, henchmen, Shirihime's." Mireille sighed. "Well. Regardless, I suppose we all owe you our gratitude. For stitching us up, teaching us how to tend to our wounds. There's only so much Kirika and I know in the medical field."

Stefan gave an awkward smile. "Another point for the Soldat doctor."

"No shit, Stefan," said Riki. "You should consider yourself privileged, because _she_ never expresses gratitude so blatantly!"

"To be in high regards," said Stefan. "It's humbling, that Noir acknowledge my real name, my existence."

"Well, just because you are a likeable, honest doctor, doesn't change the fact that you're a Soldat," said Mireille. "Your straightforwardness probably gives us all the more reason to mistrust you." She smiled weakly, as if that had been something she _wished_ was a joke.

"Mood killer, ain't she?" said Riki, leaning back into her seat after all that time of hanging over the shoulder of Mireille's seat.

"I don't think so," said Stefan. "Because, as a matter of fact, we're here. Welcome to Laguardia."

Riki and Audriane practically suctioned themselves against their windows. Up ahead, the horizon seemed to speed toward them; the roofs of a town crowned. Around them, vineyards rolled by like live beasts jumping through ocean waves, in green strips or autumn-colored patches. The town looked like ruins lost in greenery, almost blended into the surrounding wheat-colored fields. But the closer they got, the more detailed it became. They saw the walls, the hotels, the churches, the houses, the cottages, the stores and restaurants—even a small castle—and signs of life in the streets. Behind Laguardia were the mountains, like a solid wall.

The children couldn't wait to dive into a new world—an old world. Of familiar people, architecture, and life.

"Like a kingdom!" awed Audriane.

"Looks cluttered," said Mireille. "A little claustrophobic. It'll be hard to make an escape if needed. Enemies could pour in from all sides."

"_Breathe_, Dutchess," said Riki. "It's better cover than the Etxarren. Sure, we were isolated and able to train in privacy without alarming people, but . . . we can hide in all of this. And while we do, let's enjoy it. While we can."

Audriane realized she'd have to get used to finding their new home among all those buildings. The Etxarren had been _simple_ . . .

"Where we stay?" asked Audriane.

"Somewhere rewarding," said Stefan.

…

"We are . . . _royalty_!" awed Audriane, looking up at a white hotel scaled in orange-tiled roofs.

Riki gaped. "Wow. My family traveled and stayed in nice hotels—but _this_?"

"You really were a spoiled thing," said Mireille.

For some reason, this angered yet embarrassed Riki altogether.

As they admired their new paradise, they were welcomed by a familiar voice that sank their hearts in their chests like anchors to the bottom of the sea.

"Welcome to the Villa de Laguardia Sercotel Hotel!"

It was Shirihime—walking down the regal black steps, which led to several archway entrances.

Riki folded her arms. "You're a sore sight for sore eyes."

"And you haven't changed," said Shirihime.

Mireille looked the woman in the eye. "Actually, if you ask me, she's matured since the last time you've seen her." She found a second to snap at two Soldats carrying her luggage up the stairs. "So, I suppose this grandeur is the last place our enemies would look for us?"

"With the aliases you've been using, yes," said Shirihime. She gestured to the entrance. "Welcome, Mona LaKasse and Kira Togane. I updated your IDs so they matched your current state. You two are best friends, who brought along your younger sisters Adele and Miku, also best friends. It's a cute, believable story if anyone asks."

She gave everyone their fake IDs and had them memorize them, before she escorted them to the main lobby. While the adults were checking in, showing their IDs for confirmation, Riki and Audriane snuck a glance at their own:

Riki's hair was shorter, yet layered. Audriane's was primped and curled slightly at the ends, smoothed back by a black headband.

After check-in, Shirihime led them through the hotel.

"Does this mean we get hair cuts?" asked Riki, pointing excitedly at her ID.

Mirielle examined the children's photos. "How'd you do that?" she asked Shirihime.

The Soldat seemed proud. "The power of the Soldats. And technology."

"Wow, _technology_ did this to our ID's?" gasped Riki. "It looks so real! I guess that means we definitely have to get matching haircuts to the ones in these photos."

"It's like they never went to Etxarren," joked Kirika.

"Personally, I look forward to a new look," ranted Riki. "We've been mountain hobos far too long. Man, I wish I thought of this photo-manipulation when Ojiru wanted me to go that rave!"

The sudden mention of him made her think of Sakuya, and she fell silent. Lately, Sakuya's image would pop up more, as if the high school memories had really been of her, not some boy crush.

"So, why the change of scenery?" blurted Audriane.

"Etxarren was the crucial part of the Trials required to take place far from civilization, to prevent any disturbances to the Saplings' growth," said Shirihime. "Now that they've finally proved themselves ready for tasks assigned by the Soldats, they have been brought here." Shirihime darkened. "As you've learned, the Third Faction is out there. They probably sent those men to the school. And our sources tell us they're here in Laguardia, right now, looking for you."

"So the Trials . . . are over?" asked Audriane. "We now hire material?"

"They've only just begun," said Shirihime sternly.

Riki rolled her eyes. "Classic."

"Sir Asher needs your help in identifying and eliminating the enemy," said Shirihime. "He needed you to hone your skills before taking on a mission that concerns both your party and his."

"Bringing us here to a crowded location seems to only complicate things," said Kirika, discerning the tourists and hotel guests around them. "And the hotel is at least two miles from town. Being so far out here risks being surrounded, or putting lives at jeopardy out here. And with these vineyards as our backyard, it only gives enemies cover."

"It's ok, Kirika!" said Riki. "You taught us to adapt to our environment! We'll be _fine_."

Kirika stared at her. "But you just want to stay in this hotel," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yes. Yes I do," said Riki.

Kirika switched her attention back to Shirihime. "You should've put us in the center of the town, surrounded by people. That way we wouldn't have to walk back and forth, risking ambushes along the way."

"The hotel is heavily populated, offering you great protection. Also, there are transports to the old town. People are constantly taking them. The roads will be crowded and safe." Shirihime looked insulted. "I thought I'd give you a relaxing location after all your hard work."

"I did not know the Soldats were . . . this rich," murmured Audriane, growing tentative.

"Or thoughtful," muttered Mireille.

"There's plenty you don't know about the Soldats," said Shirihime, sounding mystified herself. She led them past the luxurious indoor pool. Through glass windows, the kids saw violet or reddish fog swirl along the surface of the pool. The glass ceiling was a dome, almost mushroom-shaped; it too glowed random colors. Well-crafted branches were strung along the curving interior walls, metallic nozzles between them, spouting water into the pool. A wide-open window revealed the outdoor pool.

"How's your leg?" asked Shirihime, looking at Mireille.

The blonde's response was delayed. "It's fine."

"Take this time to recover," said Shirihime. "In the mean time, I have the 'list' of people you need to check out."

"Does the hotel have internet?" asked Mireille.

"The only computers are the ones at the check-in desk."

"The last thing we need," interrupted Riki, glowering, "is you knocking the lobby people unconscious to gain access to their computers."

Mireille sighed. "What about a library?"

"Downtown," said Shirihime.

"So much for your boast of technology."

"I figured your tasks would be more fun if you toured Laguardia altogether."

"Your benevolence is unparalleled."

They walked through a rather empty zen-like room adjacent to the pool, the ceiling tangled in wiry branches lit with firefly-sized bulbs. A small wall wrapped around a growing tree, which was in its own white cylinder.

After taking the elevator to the third floor, Shirihime zipped their cardkey and opened the door to their room.

The children rushed in, their hearts aflame from the warmth, the colors, the smell, and security of the room. Sunlight glowed from the window draped in large orange curtains; a flat-screen TV on a small drawer was to its right, with paper and folders on shelves underneath. The ceiling above was split and slanted wood, low to the floor, but only above the window. Vanilla lamps and desks everywhere. Sandy-colored walls. A red striped sofa. A tiled bathroom with a white Jacuzzi.

And a curtained Queen-sized bed right there—with a tray of tea, bread, apples, orange juice, and peaches awaiting them.

The girls belly-flopped onto the bed, snacking right away.

Riki sucked on a slice of pear. "So where's the guest room?"

"This is it," said Shirihime.

"Wait, what?"

"The Soldats are looking for four women in a two-bed room," said Shirihime. "For your protection, I booked you into a one-room."

Mireille broke out in a small laugh.

"What! NO!" said Riki. "_You're _sleeping on the floor!"

"I think it'd make more sense if you slept on the sofa," said Mireille.

"So you admit you're OLD—that you need all that space?"

"Seriously, don't start."

"C'mon, you could afford a double room!" Riki shot a look at the Soldat. "After all that time in that old house, I will not go down this easily! Book us a two-bed!"

As if to finalize her point, Riki plopped onto her back, folding her arms, chewing angrily. Audriane laid next to her, saying nothing, content in the soft grooves of the covers.

Kirika smiled at Mireille. "Let them enjoy it. We'll discuss bedding later."

Behind them, Shirihime was already just about to close the door. "You have five days."

"Wait, what?" asked Riki, sitting back up.

"All that training was not to look cool," said Shirihime. "You have duties to fulfill. In five days, we expect results. In five days, we'll reconvene."

She closed the door.

…..

They never truly understood the meaning of paradise until going through hell.

Mireille humming in the steaming shower. Kirika flipping through magazines from the night-time stand. Audriane snoring on the bed. The sense of safety, normalcy. The simplicities of life, which they would cherish from here on out.

Riki made sure to remove the tray to the small kitchenette. She then looked at herself in the mirror of the sliding closet in the hallway of the front entrance.

Her black hair had grown out with unhealthy dead ends, and it was sticky from the usual muggy air. Her face, grimy and stained, toned and tan. She removed her thin flannel sweater, and saw how her collarbone flexed at every movement, every swallow, every flinch. The muscles in her neck were thick cords. Her shoulders, strong and round. Her stomach had always been flat—now it felt like rock as she pressed down. She couldn't resist from flexing her arms, watching how the wiry muscles worked under her skin, never having felt so aware of the workings of her body until now.

She suddenly felt ridiculous flexing in front of the mirror, and slid open the closet. There laid their suitcases dumped there by the Soldat guards. Growling, she tugged them out until she found hers and Audriane's.

With a surprisingly effortless heave, Riki dumped the contents of Audriane's suitcase all over her friend on the bed. Even heavy things like that felt lighter. Her body movements felt more secure—not even that, but her mind was lighter, more . . . certain. She knew how to control things, knew how to move. It was a weird thing to note in every-day movements.

Her classmate remained asleep under the pile of clothes.

"She's exhausted," said Kirika from the sofa.

"Yeah, taking up the whole bed," said Riki.

"I don't blame her." Kirika walked over to the bed. "I'll help."

Together, they sorted and folded Riki's clothes.

"I can't believe Shirihime packed these suitcases for us," said Kirika. "These don't even look like they'd fit you."

"The Soldats are strange," said Riki.

"Says the one looking herself in the mirror," said Kirika, giggling.

Riki blushed, but explained herself. "I haven't noticed the changes till now. I look and feel so different . . . not in the good way." She whispered to avoid disturbing Audriane. "I thought I knew this world, knew myself—I thought I'd know how to act and feel once reunited with a world I was familiar with. It's so soft and warm and safe here . . . or is it? I thought it would feel the same. But as I look around, this _cold_ revelation sinks in; I can feel it on my skin. My body knows it's not the same—that nothing is."

Kirika said nothing. It wasn't often Riki spoke like this. Kirika wanted to get to know her for once, aside from the profile the Soldats handed over.

"I want to remember what it felt like," continued Riki. "That exact last moment before I knew this world."

"What moment?"

"It was a random moment . . . before the . . . school. When I was sitting there, glaring at Audriane for ratting me out to the teacher because I was texting. How _stupid_ she looked, wagging my phone in front of my face—like some self-righteous bitch. Man, I wanted to _throttle_ her. Anyway, I dunno why I think back to that." Riki snorted. "Maybe because it seemed all so harmless, so ridiculous, so funny. Maybe . . . because her eyes changed after seeing this world for what it truly is."

Riki looked at Audriane's half-hidden face. "Yeah. Her eyes were never the same." She looked out the window at the dusk. The murmurs of children laughing in the pool outside—what was once familiar—sounded strange.

"Have you ever had that feeling?" blurted Riki.

"Hm?" Kirika had been studying Audriane too.

"That 'before and after' feeling? Do you miss it, remembering what it felt like before a change in your life?" Riki's face lit up with wonder. "Who were _you_ before all of this, hm? What was your job?"

Kirika felt every fiber of her freeze up. She always knew Riki would ask questions, but not like this, so suddenly.

Kirika hesitated. "I . . . I dunno."

"Can't think of a moment?"

"I . . . don't remember."

"You didn't have a job before then?" Riki's confusion grew in her tone.

"I don't know."

"You . . . don't know, or you don't remember?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember your job?" Riki squinted, puzzled.

Kirika's expression changed drastically. It seemed so peaceful, then suddenly, crestfallen. It caused an uncomfortable silence, making Riki realize she struck a chord. She focused on organizing her clothes, then stuffed them into the drawer by the bed with the lamp and potted plant and Mireille's purse. She sat back down and repeated the process. It was like trying to flap a dirty towel—waiting for the lingering dust in your eyes to settle, for the pain to go away.

All the while, she wondered if Audriane was listening or even awake, but her classmate snored softly.

It wasn't even ten minutes when Riki could no longer ignore the elephant in the room. "What did the Soldats do to you?" she whispered.

Kirika's silence was daunting. "Not what they did. What I did."

It certainly wasn't the answer Riki expected. She didn't know what to say, she just nodded. And yet, when she happened to look at Mireille's purse on the bedside drawer, she couldn't contain her curiosity.

"Does it have to do with that pocketwatch?" she asked.

Kirika froze. When Riki thought she had seriously damaged the woman, Kirika finally nodded. Barely.

"How'd you know?" murmured Kirika, voice hallow.

Riki hesitated. "The way Mireille said it was her father's. The way the room grew quiet. You two have always been so secretive from the get-go, that it's become . . . familiar."

Kirika smiled weakly. "Welcome to my world."


	24. Chapter 24: Laguardia

**Author's Note: **for downtown ambience, listen to Iblard Jikan's beautiful instrumental "The Multi-Layered World's Lovely Day". Not Basque, but kinda has that overall European feel. watch?v=Ku4zmLEdOXM&amp;index=4&amp;list=PLd63LSR1HeX0KCx8x90KiVV7gKKpX3PCm

Chapter 24

Laguardia

Waking up to dawn flooding a warm room—it was like a dream. Or, it was reality, waking up from a nightmare, they couldn't tell which. Whatever it was, they reveled in every moment. Even if it meant waking up, sharing the same bed. Or yelling at each other to get out of the hot shower they all now savored.

After a pleasantly slow morning—and Riki's vexation when she found out that Europeans eat a very late lunch—they ate outside under red umbrellas, at basket chairs and tables, each table divided by vine-covered panels for privacy. They were privileged with Laguardia's encyclopedic menu of wine and gourmet: Riki and Audriane shared a ring of beautifully trimmed prosciutto, its inner circle of neatly placed lettuce leafs, crisscrossing biscuits, and thin layers of sharp provolone dappled with slices of mushroom. Mireille slurped without shame a bowl of carrot soup filled with diced steak and fat slices of sausage. Kirika kept to herself a bowl of pasta carbonara, shrimp, and slivers of steak peppered with basil.

Afterwards, the party took the hotel trolleys. They passed everlasting vineyards. The backdrop of Cantabrians seemed taller and solid than ever, overlooking the pools of water that collected from monthly rainfalls.

Entering the walls of Laguardia was like stepping into a forgotten kingdom. At any second, they expected unheard royalty to parade the streets to greet them.

And everything evil they've ever known was crushed flat. Riki and Audriane deliberately _forgot_ the terrors they saw; mentally pushed out the shadows slithering back into the corners of their mind; resisted the dark urge to lash out at the laughing strangers who strolled by oblivious to the kind of world they lived in. They would take in every color, every smile, every touch of sunlight on the lively streets—and accept everything around them desperately like a mother to her child.

Five days.

So much to see, so little time.

But first things first.

Riki leaned her elbow on Audriane's shoulder. "We're different people, now," she began.

"Different not bad, though," said Audriane, nodding. "Different is new—but change is good. We become something new."

"Something better," concurred Riki, grinning.

The four of them hustled to the visitor's center. They got a map and brochure, and followed it to the closest hair salon. When Riki and Audriane turned a corner and vanished, they left behind a baffled Mireille and Kirika.

"All those days of bonding," said Mireille. She grabbed a map for herself and for Kirika. "You make sure they don't die on us, while I sweep the place."

Kirika frowned. "Mireille, you should enjoy this. You may never get it again."

"I would, but there are Soldats out there."

"Soldats are everywhere."

Mireille waved the subject off, tapping the map in Kirika's hand. "Follow them. Get a haircut yourself." She handed over a credit card.

"_You_ aren't getting one?"

"I can get one any day. You go on ahead, now."

….

"How about El Pablado de la Hoya?" suggested Audriane, reading the brochure.

"_Words_, Audriane," snapped Riki sitting next to her. When Audriane glared at her, Riki said, "Well, what's El Pablo de Hola?""

_"Hoya." _It was Riki's stylist who answered.

Audriane mocked her partner. "_Spanish_, Riki."

Riki made a face; the hairstylist laughed, who then said, "How are you two ladies hanging in there? What are your names?"

"I'm R—." Riki stopped short when something kicked her. "Miku. And my friend here is Adele."

"Awe. My name is Cecilia, but call me Ceci."

"And I'm Tatiana," said Audriane's stylist. "Where you girls from?"

"We . . . went to school together in Tokyo."

"Wow!" said Ceci. "Studying abroad or something?"

"Just . . . summer vacation with our sisters."

"How sweet. Hope you like Laguardia." _Snip, snip!_

Gears seemed to switch and crank inside Riki, as if trying to remember how to connect with other people as easily as talking to her own high school friends. It was consoling, nonetheless. Her heart fluttered with excitement, like a hummingbird trapped in a cage.

"It's definitely paradise compared to most places we've been to," said Riki. "We're still trying to figure out places to check out."

"Well, anyway, you mentioned El Poblado de la Hoya," said Ceci, separating strands of Riki's hair and clipping them off. "It's an archaeological site, an iconic Basque deposit founded in 1935—a Bronze Age settlement dating back to 3,500 years!"

"That's cool," said Audriane. "Let's go there!"

"How about not today? I still want to check out the rest of the town," said Riki. "What else is there, Ceci?"

"On the La Muralla, the Medieval Wall," said Ceci, "you'll see that the locals hang red peppers out to sun-dry. Then there's La Plaza de Mayor de Laguardia, the main square. Its Town Hall holds festivals like the Bagpipe one coming up, an event since the Middle Ages. There will be jugglers and musicians and lots of our favorite wine and food! And, the famous Town Hall clock, too."

Riki paused, realizing something. Tatiana had been speaking staggering English, but Ceci—she'd been speaking fluent Japanese this whole time that Riki didn't even notice.

"Your Japanese is _really_ good," she said, flabbergasted.

"It's a hobby I've picked up, learning different kinds of languages," said Ceci. "And with all the different kinds of tourists that pack this place, I got better. I like socializing. And gossiping. Think of the power you have here if you eavesdropped things people thought you couldn't understand. People begin to respect you, value you. I could even give you the daily town gossip around here."

Thinking about it, Mireille and Kirika had to speak the children's native languages, or seldom English, to maintain their communication, to make them feel safe—while Riki refused to learn French.

Language. Yet another thing the girls took for granted.

"I won't forget that," said Riki, smiling.

"Well, don't _stress_ over it," said Ceci, laughing. "Not everyone can do everything. Don't let a stranger like me lecture you on how to live. I'm sure you girls are doing well in school."

The girls smiled faintly.

"What else is here?" asked Riki.

"Well, the wine, of course," said Ceci. "Our hamlet here is a wealth of vintage and cuisine. Even tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurants have fat _bibles_ of all sorts of wine. I personally love me some Tempranillo and Mazuelo-based reds from La Rioja. But you should try our historic white wine based on the Viura grape. I'm sure your sisters could spare you on underaged drinking. How old are you girls anyway?"

"Almost eighteen," lied Audriane, just as Shirihime had them practice.

"Close enough! Well, come back and see us, let us know what you think of the wine."

The children looked at their reflections in front of them. Did all that hardship under the sun really make them look a little older? Regardless, they were certain Mireille and Kirika could care less whether they drank wine.

"Where are your sisters?" asked Ceci.

"Shopping," said Riki.

"They gonna pay for you?"

Hysterical silence; the children chuckled. "Whups, shoulda thought of that," said Riki.

"You sure rushed in here like there was _no_ _manana_ for haircuts," teased Ceci. "But no big deal! It's not like we're done yet. Sit and relax!"

"Wine sounds nice right about now," joked Audriane.

"Offering wine at a hair salon? Sounds like a good idea," said Ceci. "Speaking of which, try _txikiteo_. Grab some _koadrila_ and scurry from bar to bar to try their wine and food. Stay as long as it takes in each one to try their _zurito_ or _pintxo_—no longer than fifteen minutes in a single spot—."

"Whoa, whoa—what?" asked Riki.

Audriane turned to her. "We did in France, too. You walk around with your friends from bar to bar, to pay little as possible for their best serves."

"There you go!" said Ceci.

"I'm sorry, but that was a lot of terms I don't know," said Riki.

"_Pintxo_ are Basque 'tapas', little morsels served on a slice of bread with a toothpick, one of the world's greatest snack cultures," said Ceci. "Just something for you to try since you're almost eighteen, trying drinks and all. Speaking of which, Laguardia is known for our _underground_ wine cellars. Be sure to make that part of your plans before leaving!"

"You bet we will," said Riki.

As their hairstylists redefined their looks, as the weight on their heads and shoulders lightened, Riki felt the burden of Noir drifting to the floor with every piece of hair.

…..

Kirika had arrived, requesting her own haircut. Riki and Audriane insisted she go for a new look from her usual: dark and short above the shoulders, with one longer strand by her right ear. Ceci called upon herself to add a "spiky flair", to which Kirika didn't argue.

After paying, Kirika led them through the cramped, smoothly paved streets.

"Where's Mireille?" asked Riki.

"She claims she's looking around, but she's probably researching," said Kirika.

"What? Already! Without us!" Riki stopped herself short. "Wait, what do I care? Today's my vacation. And the next day. And the next."

Kirika gave her a thoughtful look. "I can't remember the last time you said her name—or if at all."

"Who? Mireille?" said Riki. "Well, how else are you supposed to know whom I'm talking about?"

"'Barbie', 'blonde', 'Dutchess'," listed Audriane, counting her fingers.

"Yeah, you're right," chortled Riki. "Anyway, are we going to go join her or is she gonna meet us somewhere?"

"Actually, I wouldn't mind looking around," said Kirika. "Mireille can do what she wants. When her mind is set on something, it's set."

Thrilled, Riki couldn't have agreed any more. "Alright then!"

"What should we do?" asked Audriane.

"Have fun. Explore," said Kirika.

Riki could barely contain herself. "Let's get new clothes. We've pretty much worn them out from Etxarren, and the ones Shirihime provided don't even fit us."

"Keep it practical," advised Kirika.

"If I'm gonna look and feel pretty and clean for once, I'll do it, even if it's for five days," pledged Riki, exchanging a casual high-five with Audriane.

Their street dipped into a hill. To their right, a staircase of potted plants traced down the winding corner. From there, the party continued to get delightfully lost in the narrow streets; some, from their point of view, seemed endless, no sight of intersections up ahead. People around them walked solo or in groups—no car could possibly wedge through without plowing over anyone. Windows, doors, and porches side-by-side, one after the other, on the sun-dried brick walls caked in a delicious buff-yellow. In hidden corners, streets were skinny enough that neighbors across from each other could reach over and touch each other's fingers. For fun, Riki and Audriane competed to jump and touch the small porches jutting from the buildings that were low to the streets. The railings coiled in beautiful abstract shapes and patterns, and cascaded with all kinds of plants.

They entered every door without looking at its sign, not until they really liked the place. They wove in and out of gift shops, souvenir shops, wine bars, toy stores, bakeries, or puny restaurants that looked like they shouldn't fit in these crowded buildings. They judged each other's outfits in the fitting rooms, while Kirika cruised nearby stores. When they finally bothered to read the signs of their favorite stops, they circled the locations on their map.

They found Kirika leaning against a barren wall, no sign of a bench or chair on this particular street, an interesting characteristic of Laguardia.

"Hey, Kirika!" said Audriane. "Did you find anything interesting?"

Kirika smiled. "Art stores, pet stores, and antique shops."

"What were they called?" asked Riki, pulling out her map, ready to mark it.

"Um. I don't remember, sorry." Kirika shrugged meekly.

"Oh," said Riki. Something about her comment drove Audriane to hold her gaze, as if to telepathically ask what that was about—but Riki was distracted, pointing behind them.

"Hey!"

They turned, seeing Mireille at a barrel covered with an ordinary tabletop. She was seated by a large medieval wicket, an archway framed with stone, with a smaller door opened at its center. A waiter walked through and settled a glass of wine in front of Mireille.

"Are you . . . eating a burger?" chortled Riki.

Mireille's voice was muffled in mid-bite. "Yeah?" She chewed and swallowed, glaring. "You got your fun; I got my fat burger."

They joined her after requesting the waiter for more chairs. Putting down their shopping bags, they goggled at Mireille's veggie burger with melted cheese and bacon, and the side of hash browns and green jalapenos. At the same time, Mireille glared at their bags.

She slowly leaned forward. "Um . . . what's all of that?"

"You got to stroll; we got to shop till we dropped," mocked Riki, raising an eyebrow.

"How much were they?" said Mireille, her voice slightly increasing. When Riki and Audriane exchanged glances, she turned on Kirika. "How much _were_ they, Kirika?"

"Hold it, what do you care?" said Riki. "The Soldats are paying for . . . all of it . . . aren't they?"

"NO," said Mireille. "Now tell me how much they were!"

"Shit, sorry, I thought since the Soldats had been paying for us this whole time, that it included—that's _your_ money?"

Mireille stood up. "YES IT'S MY MONEY."

"Are you saying you can afford all this shit?" gasped Riki.

"What do you mean _me_? You're the culprit!"

"You really _are_ a Dutchess, then? How the hell—who are you really?"

"Stop, both of you," said Kirika.

The bickering softened as fast as it picked up. Mireille sat there brooding, Riki and Audriane judging her. Before anyone could get comfortable in the oozing silence, Mireille burst at the kids again about "really not knowing their math"—but like all convenient timings, the waiter returned.

"Desserts?" he proffered, handing out menus.

Audriane gasped excitedly: "Ice-cream?"

Mireille snapped, "Would you like whip cream and sprinkles with that?"

The waiter smiled and awkwardly dismissed himself.

"That's enough," said Kirika. "They didn't know, Mireille. I'm the one who paid."

"Even if it was the Soldats' money, who would spend _that_ much on clothes?" said Mireille. "Seriously, that was your revenge plan against them? Drain them of their wealth? It has nothing to do with that."

"You're right," said Riki. "Having an insane amount of wealth on you has nothing to do with the Soldats."

Mireille grew frigid at the sarcasm. That's not _conspicuous_, thought Riki.

"Anyway," muttered Riki, fed up with secrets. "We got you and Kirika some stuff, too." She reached down to grab the shopping bags. "Not just clothes. Some perfume, and shampoo and conditioner and bubble soap. You sounded really content in the Jacuzzi, so . . ."

Mireille held her wine but didn't drink it. "You do realize . . . that they're not _really_ gifts when you buy them with the recipient's money?"

"Just smell the damn soap."

Mireille unwrapped it. It was white and rocklike, with a real pinkish-white rose stuffed in the center. She sniffed it. There was a subtle crack in her grouchy frown.

"You have good taste . . . in this case, keen smell."

Riki grinned. "My friends in high school knew the best kinds, but to not have heard of this one . . .! The Desert Heartbloom. For the mega bubbles. Not bad for Laguardia."

"Not bad for Lagardia," murmured Mireille.

Audriane handed over a bag to Kirika. "You seem to like hoodies, so this striped one I thought you like. And new walking shoes and hiking shoes. I noticed yours tearing at the soles."

Kirika was gratefully shocked. "Thank you."

"Again, my money," grumbled Mireille, cheek against her palm. "Thank _me_."

"Believe me, we're all grateful for your sense of humor," said Riki. "We built a shrine and everything."

"I could say the same for you," said Mireille, defeated.

"Does it _hurt_ to smile?" said Riki, observing the woman. "We're not even the adults here, and yet we know how to smile, despite everything _you_ put us through. Ok, so I accidentally used your money to get you a gift—how was I supposed to know? I'm sorry, but we don't have money. You've been our caregivers from Day One."

Audriane suddenly pointed a finger at Mireille. "So smile!" She pounded the table like a drummer, and chanted, "Smi~le! Smi~le! Smi~le!" _Boom, boom, boom!_

Riki joined her. Then Kirika, who just smirked at Mireille when the blonde threw her a look. When Mireille squashed her face against her hand, looking away, they saw she hiding a smirk. It was small and almost went unnoticed, but it was enough.

Moments later after Audriane ordered her dessert, the waiter returned with her Miroir chocolate. A thin chocolate slab jutted from in between a piece of caramel and a piece of fudge, which sat on a circle drawn with chocolate sauce. Sitting to the side was a small portion of vanilla ice-cream freckled with nuts. It was a small yet satisfying meal compared to the big square plate it sat on, sprinkled with breadcrumbs.

Riki was always the first person Audriane shared a meal with—so when she offered, Riki politely refused. Riki watched her give a spoonful to Mireille and Kirika, how their faces lit up to the delicacy. How normal the four of them looked, eating on a sunny day surrounded by cobblestone streets, people, real food.

_This_ was normal.

This was how it was supposed to be.

It could have been any other town or city. It could have been on the coast. In Tokyo. But it was here.

_Not bad, Laguardia._


	25. Chapter 25: Answers and Questions

**Author's Note: **some chill "school/studying" music from _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time:_ "Aria" watch?v=Cm69NsLedaU&amp;list=PL6C7AEA31B943B736&amp;index=5

Chapter 25

Answers and Questions

"So you weren't really looking around—you just wanted to enjoy a burger in private?" jeered Riki.

"Yeah," said Mireille absent-mindedly, as they walked to the library.

"Hey, no shame," said Riki, shrugging.

"I wasn't ashamed."

"Why we go to library now?" asked Audriane. "Why not enjoy the rest of our day?"

"Yeah, we have all these shopping bags," huffed Riki, readjusting the strap of three plastic bags over her shoulder, two more in her other hand.

"_That_ is not my fault," said Mireille. "Besides, I thought, why not get the research part over and done with? There's a lot to cover this week. We'll dig into this Sir Asher and what his faction's all about; then, this mysterious faction the Third is part of. And of course the Third Faction that is after us. There's so much we have yet to learn about the Soldats. As always."

Audriane thought about that last statement. How long have Mireille and Kirika been involved with the very people they obviously despise? And in what way?

"But what basis do we have?" mused Kirika. "We only met Asher once. We don't know anything about him or Shirihime. They have been careful as to not reveal anything about themselves to us."

"Well, then, we start from scratch," said Mireille, sighing.

"So far, so good," said Riki sarcastically.

"Kirika, wasn't there was a reason why you researched the Basques?" blurted Audriane. "Someone you knew?"

It was there in the middle of their walking that Kirika stopped in her tracks. They looked at her quizzically, all except Mireille, who didn't even turn around.

"I'm sorry, I hit a nerve?" said Audriane.

"It's fine," said Kirika, who continued to walk. "You're right. That's a good start. Mireille and I will start where I left off in my research. We'll look up about the Basques, their religion, origins, whatever it takes. Considering that Asher placed us in the Etxarren, a central Basque icon, I have come to surmise that _he_ may be Basque. I dunno why, it's just a hunch. As for you two, I think it's about time you learned the ways of trade. You gotta know how to look up blue prints, background info on your target, where to find more ammunition, where to find a secluded place for shooting practice . . ."

"That's right," added Mireille. "Just because you've improved, doesn't mean you slack. Keep up your training. If you don't, it disappears faster than you think."

Just listening to their mentors talk about being assassins sounded so ridiculous to Riki and Audriane; a weird casual conversation during a nice stroll through Laguardia. But at the same time, they have grown used to it. They just didn't think they'd already be talking about business on their first day of relaxation.

"So you expect us to just . . . wing it? Look for shit?" said Riki.

"We'll guide you, but we expect you to be able to do this on your own. After all," said Mireille, "we can't be there for you forever."

It was quiet, save for the mutter from the bars they passed.

"Right," said Audriane. "We'll look up blue prints and background information on our targets—wait, _who_?" She stared at her mentors. "Shirihime give you the 'list' already? When?"

"When I was eating lunch with her," said Mireille.

"You ate a burger with THAT WOMAN?" yelled Riki.

"Keep your voice down, we're not in the mountains anymore," growled Mireille. "Yes, I did. She gave me our targets, and she expects us to finish it within five days. But it won't be the last time we see her, of course. I'm sure she'll drop in and out, 'grading' us, per usual."

"Well, are you gonna show it to us?" asked Riki.

Kirika looked at Mireille nervously, then back at the kids. "Um, not yet." Mireille was just as startled by her answer.

"Why not?" chorused the girls.

Kirika's reply was earnest. "Why would you want to see it so soon? I thought you wanted to relax a bit."

The suspense—the determination—on the teenagers' faces was gone, fading like light from a room. Kirika was right. They almost jumped into their first assassination as though it were a fun game. That darkness they've stowed away in the dusty corners of their hearts . . . it slowly escaped its chest, slowly spreading. They fought to keep it locked.

Mireille broke the mood. "Look, just remember that we're going to the library not just for a hit list. We're here because Shirihime thinks we're doing her bidding—when really, we're gonna use the little time we have here to look up as much as we can. That includes about _her_ and Asher. Right now, you two focus on the blue prints, the closest ride out of here, and what happened to the Third Sapling the day of the massacre."

The girls hadn't heard that word in a long time. It was a like a stake, digging slowly into their hearts, their guts. Noir knew this, and felt guilty.

"What for?" murmured Riki.

"The Third said she'd been reported 'missing'," said Mireille. "I'm sure the police have been looking for her, and for _you_. There must be something on the school's security footage that they missed. The trail may be cold, or it may not. We need to trace her disappearance to whoever took her. We need to know who exactly these people are, what their goal is."

"That a lot to think about. A lot of 'what if'," said Audriane.

"It is. So let's simplify things by finding the correct answers. Aren't you just as curious about how the Third Sapling came to be? Aren't you sick of not knowing anything about her?"

"A little . . ." said Riki, thinking about the last time they saw Sakuya.

"Meanwhile, finding out why she 'wasn't supposed to be the Third'," said Kirika.

"So," repeated Mireille, "Look up blue prints of the town, just in case we need to make a run for it, and—."

"We heard that there are underground wine cellars," said Riki.

"Good. Look that up as well. Also, find a train or plane out of here when shit hits the fan. And last, research the Third—."

"Sakuya," growled Riki.

Mireille paused, and sighed. "Sakuya."

"Thank you."

…..

With computers scanty, they separated. Mireille and Kirika hit the bookshelves, ordering the girls to do the online researching once no one was sitting at the computers.

"Just like a research paper for school," said Audriane, stretching and intertwining her hands, cracking them.

"What's this—Audriane _boasting_?" said Riki, as they sat down at their own separate computers inside cubicles.

"You have to think about the right keywords to use in search engine," said Audriane, typing away as if they had never left school.

"'Slow down, we a team!'" burst Riki, shaking Audriane's chair.

This startled her partner, whose eyes bulged at Riki while looking around frantically to see if anyone was glaring their way.

"What, you don't remember that?" laughed Riki.

Audriane was more focused on Riki's outburst. However, it clicked. She shook her head, trying not to smile. "Of _course_ I do." She swatted her friend away.

Riki looked back at her own screen, clicking and typing. "So which one will you do?"

"What, you not gonna _text_?" joked Audriane.

Riki snorted, almost in disbelief at how, back then, such scholarly patronizing would have driven her to bitch-slap Audriane across the face. Sort of speak.

"Well, 'We do together', right?" quoted Riki, in such a quiet voice, she was almost embarrassed.

Audriane leaned back in her chair so she could see Riki past the cubicle wall. When Riki saw her looking, she exaggerated a dog-like snarl, baring her teeth in a way that threw off Audriane and yet made her explode with laughter into her hands.

"Anyway, where to begin?" sighed Audriane, tapping her fingers on the table. Finally, she typed and clicked so fast that Riki couldn't concentrate for the next half an hour, wishing she could type that fast, half wishing she could just push Audriane off her chair.

Finally, Riki declared, "Oh my god."

"_What!"_

"The closest airport is in Bilbao."

"You just found that? What were you doing this whole time?"

"Looking up Sakuya's case."

"Oh! Anything?"

"No, not really." That had been a lie; Riki had been avoiding any words or image related to that tragedy.

"Anyway, the airport is only ninety minutes away!" said Riki distractedly. "That's an hour and half. That's . . . that's amazing. We could get outta here!"

"Not without Mireille and Kirika," reminded Audriane. "Don't tell me you _haven't_ grown attached to them."

"Don't get all Stockholm Syndrome on me. Audriane, this is our chance!"

"Remember back at the monastery?" said Audriane calmly, not wanting to make a scene—even worse, draw Noir's attention. "Mireille practically begged us to help her and Kirika. I _know_ you won't leave them, because you like them, you just won't admit it. They're victims, too, like Sakuya, as you claim."

Riki looked at Audriane, waiting to hear those words that finally admitted Sakuya's innocence.

However, all Audriane said was, "I refuse to leave knowing they will be killed on the spot."

Riki sighed. "It's not that I don't care about them," she reasoned. "It's just . . . hard to trust them. Meaning . . . I don't know anything about them."

"What do you _want_ to know about them?"

Riki leaned back in her chair, catching Audriane's attention. "Mireille's pockewatch."

"Ok . . .?" said Audriane, obviously multi-tasking.

"That picture on it. I've seen it before."

"Really? Where?" _Tappa! Tappa! Tappa!_

Riki lowered her voice. For some reason, she didn't want anyone to hear, especially their mentors, even though they were probably far across the library.

"In that stone hut behind Etxarren," said Riki. "It's engraved into this stone relief on the wall."

Audriane stopped typing. "Really? Wow. That really strange—that definitely something! Wait, how you . . . when you go into that stone hut?"

"Sakuya showed me."

Audriane's hands flew in the air. "Of _course_!" she sang, rolling her eyes.

Riki grinned.

"Do Mireille and Kirika know about it?" asked Audriane.

"I don't think so. We were all already leaving Etxarren. I think they decided not to worry about it since we're here in Laguardia now." Riki stared blankly at the screen. "She and Kirika are hiding something. I mean, where did Mireille get all that money? I thought we were past secrets . . ."

Audriane saw how disheartened Riki became. "Maybe they don't want to talk about it. Maybe they plan on telling us at some point."

"I need to know. There's something about that pocketwatch," said Riki, nodding to herself.

"What if it personal? That be rude?"

Riki snorted. "I think, of all the things I've said to Mireille, it's the _least_ rude."

Audriane studied Riki, as if trying to see what Riki saw. "Her father gave it to her. Of course it rude."

Riki thought about that too. "Asher puts us in Etxarren, apparently, a big deal in the Basque culture—if he _is_ Basque. And that stone hut has the same picture as the pocketwatch . . ."

"And Kirika mentioned how 'Chloe' looked like the Basque people," said Audriane, twisting a strand of her hair into a rope.

Riki stood up, absorbing Audriane's words. "Wait . . . Audriane! Can you look up the blue prints instead, while I look up—."

"Did you find anything?"

Kirika had appeared.

Instead of answering, Riki's jaw hung open. Thankfully, Audriane, sitting casually in her seat, could control her movements versus Riki's obvious body language.

"Riki found the airport," said Audriane. "It only an hour and a half away."

"That's good," said Kirika. "Anything else?"

"Still figuring out the Sakuya case," said Riki. "What about you?"

"Like Riki had suggested, Mireille decided to contact old friends," said Kirika; she paused dramatically. "_That_ kind of old friends."

Audriane asked, "You mean . . . underworld—?"

"That kind."

"I dunno why, but hearing that you two had shady friends is kind of . . . badass," said Riki, smirking. "Anyway, find anything in the books?"

"Several books, actually," said Kirika, excited. "About their religion, sports, people, everything." She turned. "I'll leave you alone. Write down the airport address. And find those blue prints, they're really important."

She left.

Audriane turned to Riki. "What were you going to say?"

"I think . . ." Riki trailed off, typing rapidly. She paused. "Dammit."

"What?"

"I tried typing in 'Kirika Yumura'. Too many results under that same name, all seemingly irrelevant."

"What made you think you find them that easily? They assassins—." Audriane zipped her lips, then whispered, "They _assassins_."

"You're observant, you have good memory. Do you remember where Mireille said she came from?"

Audriane only thought for a second. "Um . . . Corsica."

"Shit, you remembered _that_ fast?"

"Wait, why?"

"Where's Corsica?"

"It's a mountainous land off the western coast of Italy, that forms administrative region with France."

"_Damn_, Audripedia." Audriane listened to Riki type fast, then click, then pause. "Audriane."

"Hm?"

"Come here."

Audriane got up and looked over Riki's shoulders. The first word she glimpsed on the white screen was "murdered".

She squinted at the search box to see what keywords Riki used, and read, "Mireille . . . Bouquet?" She gasped, skimming through a gold mine of overwhelming words and hints and revelations.

Corsica news. Wealthy family murdered. Underworld crossfire. Reasons unknown. Two survivors. Seven-year-old syndicate daughter. Claude Feyder. Body of George of the Bouquet family . . .

When they finished reading, Audriane sat back down in her chair, paralyzed; Riki, her mind speeding through the immense amount of words she read about Mireille's past. It felt as though a gloomy wall smacked right into them. Their minds went inconceivably blank for a moment. All they thought about was Mireille taking back the pocketwatch from them back at Etxarren.

"Her father gave her that pocketwatch," murmured Riki, filled with a pinch of sorrow.

Audriane looked at her, almost in fear. "You not think . . . he associated with the Soldats? I mean, why else Mireille despise them so?"

"Yeah . . . yeah, I think he was. He was a Soldat. So was she."

"Don't ever let her hear you say that."

They turned around, so caught up in themselves that they must have not heard Kirika. She stood there, looking at the photos of the crime scene on the computer.

The three of them stood there. The room felt like a bomb, ready to explode.

"We're sorry," said Riki.

Kirika said nothing, her face having never been this placid. Never looked them in the eye once.

"Kirika?" asked Audriane.

"Please don't tell Mireille," whispered Riki, ready for ramifications.

Nothing.

"Who . . . was it?" began Riki, only to be slapped in the arm by Audriane.

Minutes later, Kirika looked at them sternly. "The past is the past," she said. "We look to the future."

After she left, they researched in penitent silence.

…

Books were everywhere. They stood up on their binds, piles on top of each other, or separated into their own piles from the rest of the jumble. Kirika was focused on the Basques in general, having been ordered by Mireille to "just look around until it seems relevant".

Meanwhile, Mireille had been at the computer station ever since a library guest abandoned it, using that as a chance to contact her last resorts: Paulette, her hairstylist back in Paris, and Remy Brefford, the Soldat that convinced her to take on Altena.

When she came back to join Kirika among the books, the Japanese told her, "Did you know that it's most likely, although they don't admit to it, that the Basques invented the beret? _Txapela_?"

"I didn't see Asher wear one, though," said Mireille, sighing as she massaged her own temples.

"How about you?" asked Kirika, putting a book down.

Mireille folded her arms and crossed her legs. She let out a long sigh. "Paulette told me that someone raided our apartment in Paris, some time after we already landed in the Cantabrians. She's asked where I've been—of course, I didn't tell her. Something told me she was being watched. Hell, maybe she was trying to turn us over, maybe to the Third Faction . . ."

"_But_, as for Brefford," she said rather sing-songy, "he confirmed that Sir Asher had been placed in charge of certain provinces in Spain for more than a decade. That he is indeed from the Basque Country, which helps narrow down everything significantly. However, Brefford couldn't tell where Asher's place was in the Soldats organization. Said that Asher was 'one of the good ones' . . . 'a man of _hitza hitz'_—I don't know. But Brefford got weird right there. I dunno what to think of it." Mireille grimaced at that, but carried on. "I'll look into that later. Good news is that he emailed me one of the few photos of Asher—so far, seems like Brefford's on our side."

Mireille laid a photo next to Kirika, of Asher in a simple shirt and trousers, face shaved and younger, wearing a beret, holding a cane.

Mireille tapped the photo. "And guess who the little pint is next to him?"

It was a young girl with short dark hair and a very familiar face.

"Shirihime," said Kirika.

"Way to kill two birds with one stone," said Mireille.

Kirika looked at the other faces in the photo. Men in berets, with simple black vests and trousers, and black-cloth hemp-soled shoes laced up around the ankles—the same as Sakuya's stockings. They held walking sticks in front of them, or slung over their shoulders fashionably, bundled in cloth. The men smiled, almost laughing, or hands clamped on each other's back and shoulders.

"And what drives a person to fly all across the world?" said Mireille.

"Family," said Kirika.

"Looks like Asher did just that to adopt Shirihime. Didn't think that strange woman was his daughter. Seems peculiar, if you ask me." Mireille shook her head, as if disappointed. "The way the Soldats take advantage of the lonely child."

"'To ward the darkness from the nursing babe'," said Kirika. She looked up at Mireille. "We should check out the orphanage Shirihime was from."

"What's the point in that? We know who she is now."

"I'd personally like to know what her real name was."

It took a few seconds for Mireille to remember that Kirika had abandonment anxiety and identity crises—so whenever she found someone with a similarly mysterious childhood, she'd find a way to relate to them. First Chloe, now this.

Mireille nodded in understanding, despite her hate for Shirihime.

"Wait," said Kirika, peering closer to the photo. _"Makilas."_

"Huh?"

"Walking sticks." Kirika pushed her finger across a paragraph in the book in front of her. "The men in this photo each have one, descended from the Basque shepherd's staff. However, Asher's is more like a cane. This kind represents 'authority, justice, and respect'. His has the traditional coin engraved inside, inscribed with _hitza hitz_—'one's word is one's word'. Isn't that what Brefford said to you just now?"

"Yeah. What's the big deal, though? I haven't seen Asher with one, save for the one in this photo."

"Exactly. What has he done with it? _Makilas_ are ceremonial or bequeathed upon individuals as honorable gifts." Kirika squinted the photo. "So, did he pass it on to anyone?" She perked up. "Did he choose Riki and Audriane to pass on his leadership to them?"

"Kirika . . . that sounds ridiculous."

"Why not? The Soldats have always been about power. Asher seems different. Strange, but different. His culture means the world to him. I feel like his _makila_ is important."

"So he put us all through hell . . . for a stick?" said Mireille.

"Not exactly. I dunno. It sounds ludicrous, even I don't know where I'm going with this." Kirika reconsidered her explanation, examining the photo, showing Mireille the variety of walking sticks in her findings. "Each _makila_ is different. And one of high rank, such as his, has to have meaning. It's special. If we can trace it to its origin, or its current location, maybe we can find Asher."

Mireille learned that hunches were to never be ignored, especially in their experiences. As absurd and random as it sounded, she gathered all her willpower to trust in Kirika's theory, wherever it may lead them.

"So you think finding where that stick landed will lead us to his connections, his people, his family?" Mireille suddenly smiled. "Find his family, find him. And _end_ him."

Kirika's eyes widened. "Wait, I never said that!"

"What? He's the one who started this, remember?" argued Mireille. "Kirika. He's a _Soldat_."

"Remy Brefford, too. And your uncle. And . . . your parents."

Mireille grew silent; it was cold, but it wasn't hateful toward Kirika.

"I'm just saying," said Kirika. "Maybe not all of them are bad; they originally weren't. But I can't say for sure until we know more about Asher. So for now, let's not make killing him our number one priority. We have that Third Faction to worry about. And also . . ." She looked at little Shirihime in the photo. "The person who'd do anything for family. We need to figure out where she plays in all of this."

"Well," said Mireille, "she told me she planned on mentoring Riki and Audriane on their first commission. I'm sure they'll let us know how that goes."


	26. Chapter 26: Family

Chapter 26

Family

Noir approached the girls at their computers.

"What's with all the papers?" asked Mireille.

"Because the map _huge_," said Audriane. She spread the sheets out and fitted them together, resulting a large rectangle. "This underground. Tunnels connect Laguardia homes together. Which are constructed on top a labyrinth of caves, so no cars allowed on streets to prevent collapses."

"Oh yeah, Stefan said that," said Riki absent-mindedly.

"Once," continued Audriane, "Laguardia was a medieval village—an underground village! _Eight-hundred-year-old_ tunnels! A defense tactic, to keep inhabitants safe during battles. Eventually, it discovered they have the right temperature to store wine and even make wine."

"_Look at you,_ Professor Dupont," said Mireille, smiling.

"That's Audripedia," said Riki.

"So," said Mireille, "which underground tour do we look up?"

"There are _three-hundred_ cellars," said Audriane. "Today, only two still produce wine. So, your answer: _Bodega El Fabulista_."

Mireille nodded with approval. "El Fabulista, it is," she said.

"There are pro's and con's to this massive maze," admonished Kirika. "We can hide easily—but so can enemies. Anyone chasing us could catch up. Or cram us in from all sides. So we have to know where to go exactly, and be fast about it."

"There are exits to the hillside in case of emergencies," reminded Audriane.

"Perfect," said Mireille. "We should scout where it leads outside; on which side of Laguardia." She beamed. "Seems like a good place to target practice—we should go down there at some point."

"I don't know," admonished Audriane. "It a tourist attraction."

"Do you have the hours for the tours?"

"Yes, here."

Mireille looked at her handwritten notes. "Then we'll just sneak in after hours."

"That's gonna be hard," said Riki. "What if they have security?"

"We take 'em out," said Mireille.

"We shouldn't draw unnecessary attention, knocking out guards or whatnot," said Riki.

"With this hit list we've been given, we are going to do nothing _but_ draw attention," said Mireille. "Especially in this small town. So we need this secret route—but, this is all in case we _do_ get seen. I'm sure with all your training that things will run smoothly." Her eyes glinted steadfast. "Think you can do it?"

Riki and Audriane looked at each other. "As long as we limit the causalities," said Riki, exhaling.

"We've been over this, you can't control everything," said Mireille. "Remember back then, I said that sacrifices will be made? Sure, go ahead, try to control _what_ you'll sacrifice—but just remember, it's gonna happen. You can't be Noir be when that Third comes along stealing all your credit. Before you know it, you'll find yourself dead among her many nameless targets."

Riki clenched her teeth, as if to trap her rising volume. "_Sakuya_ isn't a murderer."

"Speaking of the devil—did you find anything on her?"

"No."

Audriane looked at Riki. "We agree _you_ do that, Riki!"

"What have you been doing this whole time?" growled Mireille. "If you don't find anything, we won't know how to beat her—!"

"She _won't_ kill us," snapped Riki. "We're her friends!"

"Where's your friend now?" said Mireille, gesturing around them. "She's probably taken on so many assignments since we've last seen her. The Soldats are probably thinking, 'Look at her. She obeys our commands without question, and executes her tasks _fast_, without hesitation. Maybe _she_ should be the True Noir—who needs those two other wet-nose babies?' And then they'll just get rid of all of us. Well, I didn't give up my _one_ year of peace and traveled around the world risking my partner's life and kicking your pathetic train-less ass—just to be thrown away like trash! I will not go down that way, nor will you! So, think of this when you find yourself cornered: it's either you, or them!"

"Mireille, _be quiet,"_ whispered Kirika, looking around them.

"You can forget about _vacacion en Laguardia_," said Mireille, lowering her voice only slightly. "Because starting tomorrow, you can damn-well bet that you _will_ do your job. Without us."

"Mireille," began Kirika, sagging at the look on the children's faces.

"Wait, so you're . . . duking out?" said Riki.

"Please, let's take this outside," said Kirika, looking around. People were looking their way, including an angry librarian behind the check-out counter.

"I shoulda known this would happen," growled Riki.

"Don't be dramatic, you know we can't leave—thanks to you," said Mireille, turning around and marching toward a random bookshelf as if to charge it down. She whipped around, infuriated. "Maybe if all goes well tomorrow, you can take the rest of the day off and bask in your fancy cuisine and pools and shopping—."

"MA'AM, that's enough!" snapped the librarian. Bubbling with rage, shaking her head furiously, she pointed out the exit.

…..

They rode the back of the trolley to their hotel. Riki and Audriane looked past the two other tourists three rows ahead of them, to where Mireille stood at the front. She was a stubborn statue, her back facing them. Blonde hair drifting effortlessly like veil in the breeze, gold as sunlight itself.

"She didn't mean any of that," said Kirika, grateful that their voices were drowned out by the rattling of the trolley along the road.

"Of course she did," muttered Riki. "Why else would she say it?"

Kirika watched the world speed by. Tourists everywhere: walking the road; hunched in the vineyards; specks in the distance out in the open fields. She glanced ahead at Mireille, then back to Riki.

"Do you know why people yell?" she murmured.

"Cuz they're bitches?" said Riki.

"Because they're passionate about something. Mireille doesn't yell unless she's passionate about something."

"Or when she's mad."

"You need to understand that anger comes from hurt."

"Riki . . ." said Audriane slowly, afraid she'd get her head bit off. "I think Kirika's right. I mean, look at _you_—it's because you're hurt. I think you know why."

"I don't know anything about her, how could I possibly care about her?" said Riki, gripping something in her hand.

Back in the library, Kirika noticed the girls had collected quite a bit of paper. She wondered if any of it was about Sakuya, hoping that Riki was just hiding it from Mireille.

"What's that?" she asked gently, hoping to change the subject. When the student didn't respond, Kirika slowly reached over. "May I see it?"

They both expected Riki to resist, but she unfolded the square-shaped paper in her hand.

"My friends," she said.

They had braced themselves for the worst, anticipating photos of the massacre. Instead, it was an article of a wake, of the students brutally murdered.

Riki sniffled, squeezing the wings of the paper. "Asuke Yamashita, freshman, 16. Chikane Sato, sophomore, 17. Akko Kobayashi, sophomore, 17. Kenji Yamada, junior, 17. Hiroshi Goto, senior, 18 . . ." She faltered, then sped through the last names: "Michiko Ito. Tamashii Sasaki. Kamui Takahiro. Ojiru Mori."

She stopped, face shining with tears. Wiped them away. "The rest were people I knew," she whispered.

Kirika's eyes sank to her lap, fingers intertwined. She breathed through her nose. In and out.She whispered, "I'm sorry about your friends . . ."

"I didn't know them that well," said Riki, dazed. "They've been my friends for three years. We hung out. _A lot_. Sleepovers, parties, all that. And yet . . . I didn't know anything dig n' deep about them. So could I really call them my friends?"

"You're crying for them. So they must have been."

"Well, death to any is a horrible thing."

"They were your friends. Losing anyone you knew isn't easy." Kirika gave a quivering smile, hoping it'd keep her from sounding know-it-all.

"Yeah." Riki wiped her nose on the hem of her tanktop. "Anyway . . . here. You can read the rest of these. I can't."

She handed the information to Kirika—all but one sheet of paper. She tucked her knees in and held it close to her face, eyes skipping all over it.

Kirika didn't have to ask what it was, because Audriane answered for her: "She checked her email. The last one sent to her was from her own parents, who had hoped she'd see it after she went 'missing'. . ."

It felt like a fist clenched Kirika's heart; it squeezed and thudded painfully. She watched Audriane's expression as the girl said that, and knew that Audriane had looked up personal things online as well. Part of her wanted to ask, to get to know the girls. The other felt forbidden. It was a world of normalcy she never belonged to.

After a few minutes of Kirika dissecting the contents, Audriane asked if anything vital came up. Kirika still read on, now switching between the pages as if to connect something.

Her expression changed.

"What?" urged Audriane.

"People reported you three missing," said Kirika. "Police asked your families, and Sakuya's friends—even at the wake and funerals. But, as you can imagine, everyone was too angry or distraught to talk just yet. Your trail eventually went cold . . . until someone from the school faculty stepped up and mentioned a _fourth_ missing person."

"Who _else_ the Soldats possibly target at our school?" asked Audriane.

Kirika seemed to exhale the words: "The 'receptionist' that had an interview that day."

Immediately, Riki and Audriane leaned over to read the content. The three of them held the papers down from the thumping trolley.

"They came forth with Mireille's name tag, something required of visitors as part of school protocol," continued Kirika. "Obviously, she went under a fake ID. Now she's under suspicion for kidnapping you three. And guess who's after her, in charge of the case of the three missing students?"

The students were too absorbed to answer.

"Investigator Ginko Hasegawa."

The children opened their mouths as if expecting to recognize the name, but realized they didn't.

"He's your first assignment," said Kirika.

She pulled out a photo of a fifty-year-old-something man, brunette, slightly olive-skinned, with short trimmed hair in a business-like manner. His face was broad; expressive lines made his mouth seem tight around the corners. Facial hair traced along his heavy jawline, down his throat. His eyes, a unique bright brown.

"I . . ." began Riki. "I don't want to a kill man for doing his job, looking for missing children."

"Something tells me that he's from the Third Faction," said Kirika.

"_What!_ What makes you say that?"

"Why else would Asher assign you this man?"

"Why should we trust _Asher_? He got us into this shit bucket."

"Some contacts told Mireille that someone raided our home back in Paris," said Kirika, as if to prove her point. "Hasegawa must have traced her fake ID all the way to there. Probably found some clues about where we've traveled, and followed us from there."

"If he's our target," whispered Riki. "Then that means . . . he's already here."

"Yes. It all makes sense now," said Kirika, eyes glued to the photo. "This has to mean that there are Soldats in the police department back in Tokyo, working for Asher, which explains why the four of us got out of there without leaving a scent. Hasegewa is from the Third Faction, from the same police department. He must have found out what his own comrades were up to."

They all caught their breaths. Compared to everything they went through—all that training felt like the waiting part. _This_ was the real deal, the real action.

"He could recognize your faces from the school files," said Kirika. "And probably Mireille's, and mine, from their investigation. Good thing Shirihime provided us fake IDs, and had us change our looks. All that training under the sun did make you look different. Maybe we'll be fine. But just in case, be careful. Stick to your aliases."

The children nodded obediently.

"I mean it," said Kirika. "You two have a tendency to blurt things."

"Ok, ok, Big Sister Kira," said Riki hurriedly.

"This our first clue we seen regarding the Third Faction," whispered Audriane. "Any information on the back?"

Kirika flipped the photo over. "Just the words 'no hesitation'."

"Shady Shirihime, as ever," said Riki. "Ok . . ."

"I'm assuming in case anyone found these photos in our possession, they wouldn't know who we were and why we had them."

"'Photos'?" said Riki. "There are more? Of our targets? Do you have them with you?"

"One thing at a time," said Kirika firmly. "Knowing you two, you get quite emotional. It's best not get to know your targets. I've learned that the hard way . . . so I'll keep these with me. I hope you understand."

Riki's eyes reflected scrutiny. "But you're doing it right now," she said. "Being emotional. Trying to protect us from our own emotions. Doesn't that apply too?"

Kirika's eyes wavered, just a bit. She looked to their hotel as the trolley drew closer.

"After all," said Riki, looking at Mireille, "Dutchess wants us to be strong, isn't that right?" She saw the blonde look over her shoulder, only to turn around again.

…..

Being Third had its benefits.

Freedom, to roam all of Laguardia.

Trust, that of Asher and Shirihime—that she wouldn't betray them. Plus, with Xabier and Elixabete accepting her as part of the family, they never gave it a second's thought whenever she took the children downtown.

Because they had nothing to fear; for she was the Third Sapling, loyal to Xabier's own cousin, protective of their family.

No fear. She was powerful in title and skill, and that was all she needed to know—that she could protect, when she couldn't have in the first place. _That_ is why she chose the path of Noir.

No fear . . .

She looked down at Arrosa and Lore. They clung to her, whimpering into her hips.

"It's ok," she said, in the little Basque she had accumulated.

They hadn't removed their faces from the waist of her jean shorts. When she knelt down and tipped their chins up with a finger, they pouted. Again, they shook their heads.

Arrosa pointed down the dimly-lit stairs of dead brick and earth. "No, _arreba_, no!"

Sakuya stroked Arrosa's cheek, then turned to Lore. "Tell your _arreba_ it's ok. We're all going down there together. Let's all hold hands."

Sometimes her English jumped to Japanese, to the little Spanish she knew, then Basque. She never knew which language to use—even when speaking to herself or Shirihime and Asher—thanks to her Japanese father and English mother. All that eagerness to understand her new family, and yet she still felt like she hadn't gotten anywhere. More than ever did she wish she had excelled in Spanish class from school. It was the closest she'd get to Euskara . . .

Sakuya ushered the girls down the stairs to the wine cellars. They shivered in the damp air, which she understood was ideal for the 32,000 liters of wine down here.

Access to El Fabulista was one of many privileges in working with the Soldats:

_Connections_.

One of them worked here.

Well, he used to work for Third Faction. Wouldn't say who exactly. But thanks to Shirihime's persuasion, they managed to get him to switch favors. Since he was already employed as a tour guide under the Third Faction, they put him to use in case they ever needed the cellars for the Trials.

For Sakuya, she needed these cellars for something else.

Arrosa shook her head, pointing not at the stairs, but the man walking up toward them.

Their tour guide. Nameless, as usual, something Shirihime emotionally cautioned against.

"I told you not to be rude," said Sakuya, wagging a finger at the girls. However, even though this was their third time down here, she herself couldn't keep from grimacing at him.

Bandages supported his lower jaw, draping the sides of his head and the back of it. It kept together his swollen face, purpled from the bruises. His nose was short and squashed and red. He breathed heavily through that opened mouth that never closed. His upper lip, puffy and red. Sakuya had told herself to get used to how his front lower teeth sunk inward; the gum in that area had blackened over time.

_So she had him mauled after already tearing apart his jaw? _thought Sakuya, smiling grimly at him. _How horrible._

The only thing human about him was the flat shade of mustache. It wasn't enough to picture what he _used_ to look like—something Sakuya desperately clung to in her mind. But she kept on a steady face, not just to be rude but for her own sanity.

After all, she understood what it took to protect her own. Shirihime obviously did. Sakuya knew being part of Asher's family faction meant looking away from heinous things.

"You first," she told him. Even in his weakened state, she couldn't afford to let her guard down next to a man of the enemy. Monstrous appearance or not.

The magenta around his eyes made him look sad and sunken, as he turned around slowly, breathing heavily, like a dumb, obedient giant. He lumbered downward, as if to avoid any swinging motion in his jaw.

_He must be in so much pain,_ thought Sakuya.

He took them past endless rows of barrels that expanded on either side of the tunnels. The ground was polished and cemented, mirroring the stripes of shadow and light along the ceilings strung with wires. The walls were uneven and lumpy with shadows. The further they went, the more the ground became patterned stone.

Some tunnels ended at pockets that held pyramids of wine barrels, or gated doors storing more wine. For the tours, empty barrels were sat upright in the middle of the now-tiled floors, presented with glass tabletops and bottles and glasses of wine.

Without a crowd to tour with, it most definitely made a creepy experience. But Sakuya had been down here before. And the guidance of this man was useful for the other parts she hadn't explored yet.

"Right here's fine," she commanded.

She took out a gun.

….

"Who's that, _aita_?"

"You are not a child, anymore. You must address me properly."

"Apologies. So, who are they?"

"Candidates for the Trials."

"But . . ." Pause. "That's _five_. Aren't there supposed to be Three Saplings?"

"Yes, but looking for the ideal Noir requires a lot of research, a lot of potential. If seen, we pick them out of the garden, we analyze the petals and the thorns. We remove the poisonous insects and dead leaves. We feed with water and light. And we admire, and judge."

Perusal. "They are not the ones."

"What makes you say that?"

"They're spoiled and bratty. Privileged. Never have they toiled or fought for something in their life. They have not _suffered_. You can see it in their smiles. They wouldn't last one _breath_ in the hardships of Noir."

"Have _you_ not been once lauded and cared for?"

"You _pushed_ me. But these candidates—no. I do not want to see them tripping over themselves and wailing like babes. It'd be an embarrassment to the Soldats. Pick someone with more prestige—."

"But wouldn't that make the Trials more interesting?"

"No, more goading."

"Maybe you should look closer."

"I see . . . one with athletic background, one without. The third . . . I don't see anything in her; I don't see how you or the Soldats do. These last two—discard."

"You're not looking."

"For _what_, Sir?"

"Their names."

"Their names mean nothing to me."

"Young lady, what have I told you?"

Mutter. _"Izena duen guzia omen da."_

"That's right. When you add meaning to something, it becomes more than a word or a name. So I implore you to look."

Shuffling of paper. "This one." Gasp. "Her last name is the same as mine, according to my files."

Smile. "What do you think, then?"

"I . . ." Hesitation. "I . . . don't know how to feel."

"Just tell me what you feel _now_."

"I guess . . . _awe_. Like something clicked. You ensured that I never be hidden from or feel ashamed of my adoption. But when it sneaks back up on me, I forget it was there. I cannot say that this is something to . . . celebrate about. It's intriguing, it's shocking, it fills a curiosity I never knew was there. But."

"Well? Would you like to proceed with the duty of recruitment of the candidates? Would that honor you?"

Shock. Confusion. Ecstatic. Then numbness. "Do you expect me to feel love for a sister I never knew I had?"

"It's never been part of my raising you to expect anything from you other than your growth—that it becomes _your_ growth, not mine to breed. I cannot force feelings that don't exist. This is up to you. However, in my personal opinion, I believe it would be _fun_ to see how she grows in the sun. She may not feel like family to you now, but in time, perhaps."

"Something tells me this is something _you_ desire. If so, I will not impose."

"You aren't. You are family. If you decide to make her part of the family tree, I would rejoice in it. If for now, you just wish it to be from afar, then so be it. I will provide you the means to fulfill your destiny."

Hurt. "If that is what you believe true."

"Remember. 'Feed the Saplings with water and light'."

"Yes . . . Sir."


	27. Chapter 27: Child

**Author's Note: **sorry for the slow updates, guys! Busy with life in general lol. But thanks for sticking with me! No matter how slow this story seems, know that I am intent on finishing it…whenever that will be lol.

Chapter 27

Child

"What are you looking up?" asked Shirihime from her computer.

The Third was too lost in the words on the computer to answer. "Sensitive to feelings of others," she read. "Emotional highs and lows. Becomes bossy. Wants to please and be liked by friends. More likely to agree to rules. Distinguishes fantasy from reality. Likes to be given choices—confused by more than two or three. Ability-oriented. Hops, does somersaults. Swings, climbs . . ."

"Are these monkeys?" joked Shirihime, smirking.

"I'm trying to figure out how to understand children of this age," said Sakuya, ruffling her hair wildly in auburn sprays. "Arrosa and Lore aren't easy to read, to control, to communicate with. I need them to understand me."

"What for?"

"I . . ." hesitated Sakuya. She looked up at her mentor. "I've . . . been teaching . . . the girls how to shoot."

Shirihime raised her eyebrows, mouth slightly open. "Really? Does their father know?"

Sakuya rolled her head to the side. "Mmmmnnn-noooo . . . please don't tell Sir Asher."

"You've been honored to protect them, not further endanger them."

Sakuya rubbed her lips together nervously. "I don't trust myself with them. Third, I may be, but . . . what if something goes wrong? What if I can't protect them? The Soldats will call and while I'm gone, someone could hurt them. Just like that other time. I need to know they can take care of themselves. As strong as Xabier is, I don't know how well he'd fare in a fight with Knights from some other faction. A single able-bodied man protecting his family won't be enough."

She glanced at Shirihime apprehensively. "You're not gonna tell, are you? I mean, do you think Sir Asher would mind?"

"I'm surprised you entrusted such a dangerous secret with me, of all people."

"Are you gonna tell?"

"Frankly, I cannot say."

Cheeks puffed, Sakuya blew out air, brow wrinkling with concern. "_Please_. We've done target practice almost every day up till when the Saplings arrived in Laguardia, yet the girls haven't shown any signs of compliance or improvement. Just lemme teach them the basics of what they need to know on guns and knives, safety and all."

"I suggest the only way to accomplish such a task is to learn their language—."

"You've been saying that, and I've been practicing it with you," said Sakuya, rubbing her temples. "I've listened. I've asked questions. I've engaged in Euskara with Sir Asher, with the family, and studied the books from the library. But because it's such a distinguished language with alien roots, it's not easy to learn. On top of that, I'm getting confused with my English and my Japanese and—."

"You are Noir. You can do anything—more than any candidates I've seen."

"But not a scholar. You keep saying you believe in me, and yet the Trials aren't over . . ." Sakuya smiled faintly. "You've always believed in me. Why is that? Why me?"

"It's all been _you_, child. All I've done was nurture what was already there, poking a smolder that soon became a wild fire."

"I'm asking you—why me?"

"Because you believe in Noir, whereas those other two do not. If one does not accept the darkness in them, then one cannot survive."

Sakuya laughed. "You sound like you hate them, yet you train them."

"I'm fulfilling my duty. As you yours."

Sakuya paused, scanning the words "more ability; likes group sports" and "may be hard oneself when not good at an activity". She paused, falling into thought.

"How's Riki doing?" she asked.

Shirihime's tone thickened. "She thinks and feels too much. Makes too much noise, like a baby in the jungle, attracting beasts."

Sakuya shrugged in agreement. "I've fought alongside her, so, I can sorta validate that. But she's better, now."

"With Arrosa and Lore, they may be scared, but they'll get used to it." Shirihime pointed at a phrase on the computer screen. "Right now they feel 'insecure if not in a day-today-routine'—but the more you bring them down there, into the darkness, with guns and knives, the more they will get used to it. It becomes part of their lifestyle; soon they will not question you. Treat it like education, like they're in school. It will show results, just like the case of Yumura and the Daughter of Corsica; they were about Arrosa and Lore's age. However, with Araki and Audriane Adrenaline, it's been a hard adjustment. This was never their lifestyle."

"They have yet to fulfill their first duty as Noir," murmured Sakuya, praying for their success. "Isn't that today?"

"Yes. And you your duties: keep an eye on the Laguardia police. Keep them disconnected from that investigator."

Sakuya nodded, closing the browser. "While you and Riki and Audriane take him out somewhere secluded—?"

Her mentor suddenly grabbed Sakuya's wrist and pulled her along. Despite her confusion, Sakuya knew better than to shout questions. They sauntered to a bunch of bookshelves and stepped behind them. She did as Shirihime did, grabbed a book, and read it casually. Through a slit in the shelves, they watched a man approach the check-out counter.

"Ginko Hasegawa," whispered Sakuya. "What's he doing here?"

"What else," said Shirihime.

"I hate the police. Always have." Sakuya frowned. "Too bad he's Riki and Audriane's, or else I'd take him on myself."

"I know you would."

"I _can_."

"Yes, but let us not boast. We wait him out. Let him carry on."

They watched the gentleman in the bulky leather jacket and jeans. He leaned forward to the librarian at the desk, flipping open a black leather wallet and shutting it not a second later. He handed her photos.

"Have you seen these two?" he asked the librarian.

She peered closer, then gasped. "Yes, actually! Yesterday."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. They look so alike!"

"Were they with two older women?" He showed two more photos.

"Ohmygod, yeah!" The librarian's face lit. "My, that looks _just_ like them, I'm positive! But . . . what's going on?"

"Please keep it on the down-low. They're missing students from a school in Japan."

Her eyes bulged, as she craned her neck. "No way! _Seriously_?"

"Could you tell me what they were doing?" Hasegawa pulled out a notepad and pen.

"I-I, uh, I honestly didn't notice them until they started arguing."

"Arguing?" Hasegawa started scribbling, looking her in the eye. "Did they hurt the children?"

"No."

"Do you know what it was about?"

Next to her, Sakuya could hear her mentor hissing through her teeth. "They've learned _nothing_ about stealth," said Shirihime.

"Should we stop him?" whispered Sakuya.

"Let's see how much he knows. I'd personally like to save him for the Saplings," said Shirihime.

Such a suggestion made Sakuya think. "He . . . could know something," she murmured. "He could know who kidnapped me the day of the massacre—who leads the Third Faction."

They returned their attention to the questioning. The librarian had stopped in thought, but couldn't recall. "It was really vague," she said, shrugging apologetically. "I wish I could help, now that I know this is serious! Missing children . . . god . . . wait, were they actually _kidnapped_?"

"Something like that," said Hasegawa. "Now please, every detail, as minor or vague as it seems, could be of value."

"Well," replied the woman. "Something about 'it's either you or them'. 'Traveling'. Um . . . 'wet-nosed babies'. I'm sorry . . . um, I think . . . 'tasks'?"

Hasegawa looked stumped. "How much did you really hear, ma'am?"

The woman seemed distraught with her herself, pulling at her hair, sagging her eyes. "Ah, I'm sorry! Really, it was a lot of whispery hissing! I wish I had paid more attention! If it helps, I can point you the direction they left."

The investigator looked toward the exit. He sighed. "Yes, thank you."

"They took a left. I'm sure you can ask people in that direction. It looked like they did a lot of shopping—maybe, ask around the shops here?"

There was excitement in Hasegawa's large form. "Did you see their shopping bags? Do you remember the logos on the shopping bags?"

"Oh . . . yeah! Yes, yes I did!" The librarian grabbed her own pencil and paper, and thoughtfully scribbled a list of stores. "I only remembered some. Here you go."

Hasegawa tucked the list into the breastpocket of his leather jacket. "Thank you, miss."

The librarian gave a sympathetic look. "Good luck," she whispered.

Hasegawa nodded his thanks and left. Sakuya and Shirihime watched as the librarian started gossiping to another co-worker arranging books behind the counter. She spoke in a mix of excitement and dread.

"From the sounds of it, he didn't ask for you," said Shirihime. "We're lucky."

Sakuya glanced at the investigator, then the librarian.

"We don't have to . . . _do_ we?" she asked.

"Possibly," said Shirihime coolly. "However, it _could_ alarm Hasegawa. He'd know someone was watching him if he found out about her death. But at the same time, we cannot have this small town recognizing the Saplings everywhere they go. Or putting up MISSING signs. It'll impede the Trials."

Sakuya breathed in through her nostrils. She watched the librarian rummage around, checking out books, returning them to their shelves. Watched her hum to herself. Smile to guests. Get lost in a book as she put some away.

It was when she started clicking on the computer with a determined look in her eyes that Sakuya grew fidgety.

Shirihime closed the book she faked to read and slid it back onto the shelf. "Let it begin," she said, smiling.

The Third nodded, pulling out a knife.

….

Back at the hotel, Shirihime was welcomed with guns in her face: Mireille and Kirika at the door, Riki in the hallway closet, Audriane by the veranda window. It was the most amateur, un-Noir thing she'd ever seen, and it infuriated her.

"You haven't been asking for room service, correct?" asked Shirihime, striding in without a passing glance.

"No, I made sure they hadn't," said Mireille, closing the door behind them.

"Party-shitter," commented Riki.

"Good," said Shirihime. "It would have raised questions—and a charge to your credit card." She glanced at the bed where the students had picked apart and cleaned two some guns. Probably to review for their big day. "And you've stowed away all personal information in the safe—away from the hotel staff?"

"Yes," said Kirika.

"Recall that I booked you a room for one," said Shirihime. "Next time you plan on answering the door, remain hidden. You're lucky there are a lot of foreigners and tourists here. It'll deter him from recognizing you. Hardly."

"_Him?"_ asked Mireille.

"Their first assignment. Investigator Ginko Hasegawa is downtown."

"You saw him?" blurted Riki.

"The librarian reported you to him. You should be _quiet in a library_," rebuked Shirihime, glaring down Mireille and Riki. "She told him you two were arguing. What _about_, does not concern me. What _does_, however, is what drove him to go to the library."

"Don't know. What drove _you_?" said Mireille with accusing eyes.

"Business, what else? If you assume I am of primitive nature with no desire for modern connections, then you are far wrong." Shirihime smiled, except Mireille would never call it a smile. "After all, the Soldats are all about connections."

Riki gave a mocking salute. _"Sol-DOTS,"_ she said, like a baby that found a bad taste on its tongue. Audriane tried not to smile.

"Your maturity for one that has been through hell confounds me," said Shirihime. "I am glad to see you in such spirits. You will need it." Shirihime turned. "We are running out of time. Come, Noir."

Riki and Audriane looked toward their trainers. Kirika smiled—it felt fake, as if she shouldn't be smiling for something like this. As for Mireille, there was no trace of their argument from the library on her face, even though they felt it in the air, in their hearts.

Mireille retrieved a gun from the bed. She gave it to Riki, who accepted it by the back strap. She didn't let go, nor did Mireille.

"Go on, now," said Mireille. Her voice was gentle.

"I know, I know," said Riki, taking the gun, "we aren't children anymore."

"What are you two going to do while we're out?" asked Audriane, taking her gun from Kirika.

Kirika shrugged in answer, but smiled. "I'm sorry, I know you wanted to explore more of Laguardia before your first commission."

"They will," said Shirihime from the door. "It will be their reward at day's end."

No one said anything. Riki and Audriane tied sweatshirts around their waists, tucked their guns into the back of their loose tanktops, put on their new hiking boots from shopping, and joined Shirihime at the door.

"Don't die," said Mireille cheerfully.

"Don't drown in your bubble-bath," said Riki, not looking over her shoulder.

The moment they closed the door, Kirika turned to her partner, only for Mireille to glide to the bathroom—followed by the waterfall-thunder of the Jacuzzi and the soap scent of the Desert Heartbloom.

…

Mireille and Kirika crossed the manicured lawn, passed the white gazebo, all the way to the entrance of the small library. An old church-bell tower sat at its peak, on studded white pillars of a balcony. The assassins walked up the short steps and veered to the left, down the side ramp. There, under the old-fashion side windows, they peeked in to see if the same librarian was there. They ducked through back entrance.

"This library used to be the founder's house," said Kirika, reading off her computer. "It first opened in 1866, around the same time the school did. It closed when the new high school was being built nearby, but was restored again in 1981."

"Fascinating," said Mireille rather flatly, sitting next to her.

Kirika checked the clock. "Last time we were here, it was noon. It's now 2:30. School's out."

"That explains the children," said Mireille. "_Awe._ Hell's blessing in disguise."

An influx of children poured through the back entrance, a shortcut to a nearby elementary school. Apparently it was a social gathering, a chance for students to fool around on the internet, read their favorite books, or wait for their parents while doing their homework.

"Or heaven's blessing in disguise," said Kirika. "They could keep that librarian busy."

Mireille shot her arms up above her head, stretching. "Speaking of children—with _those_ three out of the way, we can finally get some real answers."

Kirika, in her cubicle, leaned back and glared at Mireille: it was gentle, but even just that was like a dark explosion of daggers.

"What?" asked Mireille, typing.

"Your way of phrasing things . . ." began Kirika.

"I'm just saying, with Shirihime supervising them, we don't have to worry about them," said Mireille. "We're _free_. And not just that—we can look up some things those two couldn't—didn't."

"Riki and Audriane," said Kirika.

Mireille paused. "I _know_ their names."

"But you barely say them. It's disrespectful. When you first said _my_ name, it meant a lot."

They didn't unlock eyes. Mireille was quite baffled by Kirika's unusual sourness; she stared at her as the Japanese finally looked back at her own computer.

Then she heard Kirika murmur, _"Izena duen guzia omen da."_

"Oh please, not that again."

Kirika peeked over again, with the same glare that never left her face. "Names are important. It's a statement, that you acknowledge someone or something."

"Noir's just a name," said Mireille, sighing.

"You know more than anyone else that it isn't."

"Kirika, we decided to put it behind us, remember? That it's just a name."

"And where are we _now_?"

"Don't remind me. Don't rub it in, I'm begging you. I did this for us—for you."

"Really?" whispered Kirika, so low, so quiet, it came out as a scratch.

Mireille snapped. "_Really?_ You think I came back for all of _this_!" She dropped her tone instantly, looking around, in case that librarian recognized them.

"We are Noir," whispered Kirika.

Hesitation. "Yeah . . ."

"We always will be."

"No." The images of Riki and Audriane flopping onto the hotel bed upon their arrival . . . stamped, like a photo, in Mireille's head.

Kirika looked down at her lap. "And what's left of Kirika Yumura—it still exists, right?"

Mireille's heart lurched, but she didn't reply. It was the kind of question that Kirika often asked herself, that never actually required an answer.

"Then Riki and Audriane exist," ranted Kirika. "They existed before Noir. They exist after Noir."

"Kirika," began Mireille, when she was cut off by a small voice.

"_Barkatu?" _

They turned around.

A little girl. She spoke again, this time in Spanish. From what Mireille could guess, she was asking about the computer. In fact, the child held up a yellow sheet of lined paper on a clipboard, pencil strung attached.

Kirika took it, saw writing on the paper. "It's an honor system," she told Mireille. "A sign-up sheet for computer use."

Mireille frowned and leaned down toward the little girl. "Sorry, we're using them," she said.

The girl obviously did not understand. Before the two could tell her off, another girl appeared. Both looked expectantly at the computers.

"Mireille, we need to sign up—or else they'll complain to that librarian," said Kirika, who already scribbled their names down.

However, this did not please the two girls. One of them scurried off. The other just stood there, pouting. Mireille and Kirika looked at each other nervously.

From behind, a woman's voice. "Excuse me, ladies?"

Panic. The librarian.

They turned around.

It was an auburn-haired woman in an orange blouse. She smiled at them. One of the little girls held her hand.

"Great," whispered Mireille. "Mamma drama."

The mother glanced at Mireille as if knowing she was in charge. Kirika watched as the Corsican spoke calmly in the little Spanish she knew with the mother. It only lasted a few minutes, ending with the two daughters taking over the computers.

"Their mom said they'd just be here for five to ten minutes while she looked for some books," said a defeated Mireille.

So Noir lounged in the children's back room full of bean-bag cushions and colorful mini-tables. They hid their faces behind books to prevent from being recognized, waiting for any open computer station.

"Now I remember why I don't like children," said Mireille, peeking over her book, looking around them. "Because I don't know how to feel around them. Happy. Or sad."

Kirika could relate. "You wonder if they are truly happy?"

Mireille shrugged. "They also remind me of how old I am. That I'll never have children."

Kirika questioned her with a look. Did Mireille want to have children, or was it because of the life of Noir that she'd fear to risk having any?

When the mother came back, Mireille and Kirika walked over. They exchanged pleasant smiles with her and waved goodbye as she had her daughters help carry the books, one of them being about the Basque language. When the family walked out the front entrance, Noir got to work.

Kirika researched the pawnshops, antique shops, gift/souvenir shops, and even if there were any museums in Laguardia, or at least in this region. She even checked the statistics of how many residents were Basque, to see if they could visit anyone who would know anything about the _makila_. She was surprised at the decent number of residents whose very own homes had tunnels that merged with the rest of Laguardia's underground tunnels.

Meanwhile, Mireille probed Sakuya's past. That was easy. Sakuya had claimed her father was running mayor in Tokyo. _Click!_ Hiro Takagi. Daughter, Sakuya. _Click_. Hibiya High School. _Click_. Sakuya Takagi, sophomore, home teacher Natsume Jiro . . .

Other than the massacre, there was nothing on Sakuya. She wasn't a member of any clubs or sports teams. Mireille looked up about her mother. _Click_. Divorced, wife, Andrea Wesst, high school teacher. _Click_. Andrea Wesst, Seattle home invasion, Wesst family taken hostage.

"Huh. Interesting," said Mireille.

Kirika got up from her seat and looked over the blonde's shoulders.

"There was a home invasion in which two men took the Wesst family hostage," said Mireille. "When police arrived at the scene, there was blood everywhere; mother, child, and captors covered in it. Reports say the mother did it to—successfully—protect her daughter. They both underwent intense therapy. Meanwhile, the captors' faces were slashed beyond recognition, making it hard to decipher their background or motive. Police believed it was to hold the mayor's family for ransom, but it was perceived to be improbable." Mireille snorted. "Seems kind of _petty_ that someone would go such extreme lengths against a mayor's family. It's not like there were any known political disputes in Tokyo during that time. How random and fascinating."

"I doubt random," said Kirika.

Her partner absorbed those words. "I agree," said Mireille.

"How did the father react to this assault on his family?"

"He was devastated—especially being all the way in Tokyo away from them." Mireille swung the cursor everywhere, clicking and displaying to Kirika other findings. "That's funny. When you type in 'Andrea Wesst, home invasion', you get all these results in Seattle. It was quite the story. But when I skimmed everything, never did I see the name 'Sakuya'. Instead, this name."

Kirika read aloud, "Mercedes Wesst."

"For short, 'Merci' Wesst."

Kirika squinted in thought. "How old was she when this happened?"

"Eight."

"Why the name change?"

"I don't know. Something's not right." Mireille looked up Sakuya's yearbook photo, double-checked the team rosters and school clubs. She even checked local clubs or teams in Seattle for any sign of membership under the names of Andrea or "Merci". "Isn't it hysterical that a _popular_ girl wouldn't participate in something as social as sports? That she lacks an athletic history? And yet, she's the _Third_?"

"Strange," said Kirika. She took over the mouse and compared photos of the Third in her sophomore photo, and her photo from the articles. "'Sakuya Takagi' and 'Merci Wesst'. Who are they separately—and yet how are they connected?"

"This should be fun," said Mireille.

"Maybe instead of all of this intense work," began Kirika, "we do the easy, most natural, human way?"

"What do you mean?"

"We ask Riki to talk to . . . Sakuya."

"You really think _Merci_ will tell her anything?"

"Sakuya is a link to the Soldats, whether we like it or not."

"She didn't sound like she knew who kidnapped her from the massacre, or why she 'wasn't supposed to be the Third'! What makes you think she'll recall a childhood trauma she probably blocked out?"

"Well, she knows more than we do." Kirika gave Mireille pleading eyes. "Let Riki talk to her. Let the three of them bond. I don't trust Sakuya, but I don't hate her. I think if we just got to know her, we could get out of this. We can't live like this anymore, just the two of us. We can't keep shutting people out, Mireille."

Her partner's eyes remained on her own computer.

"Let them in," whispered Kirika. "I never got a chance to get to know Chloe, so please, let me make up for what I wasn't able to do. Let me make up for what I _did_ do . . ."

Never would Kirika forget the two-pronged fork and Chloe's body on the ancient grounds.

"We can't afford risks," said Mireille. "If our girls screw up—if _we_ screw up—then we risk everyone's lives—."

"You're protective, I understand," blurted Kirika. "But we can't protect them forever. Starting now."

"You of all people should know the circumstances of _death_!" said Mireille. "What it means if we let our guard down; what would _happen_; who would die . . ."

"They're on their own," said Kirika sternly. "Let them make their own mistakes. If Sakuya is a threat, they can take care of themselves. If she isn't, then, maybe . . . just maybe . . ." Kirika began to whisper. "Think about it—Chloe was a victim, too. She died because of _Altena_. Her twisted beliefs and manipulative maternity drove Chloe to do things out of familial love for her. Sakuya's no different. What if she's innocent? If another girl dies just because we fear the Soldats' influence on her, I don't want part of it. Not again."

Mireille's expression tensed. "Even if we _did_ bring her to our side, we still don't know where Sir Asher is. And we still have to figure out who the Third Faction is. That's what it all narrows down to."

"One thing at a time," said Kirika, typing on Mireille's keyboard. The screen flickered with several images of a large building.

"What's this?" asked Mireille.

"La Hoya Museum. It contains everything we need to know about Laguardia, the art and culture of the Basque Country, exhibitions in Euskadi—including Basque artifacts."

Mireille twisted in her seat, arm propped onto the back of her chair. She raised an eyebrow, mulling over Kirika's determined face. She sighed.

"Let's hope your Basque obsession leads us somewhere."


	28. Chapter 28: Tkikiteo

**Authors Note: **So sorry! Been having writer's block. Trying to figure out life, when all I wanna do is write but I have other things I wanna accomplish while people are reminding me of real-life responsibilities. Anyway, for the first half, listen to watch?v=ttag59b7vCk. For the second half, in honor of Noir's amazing music composer Yuki Kajiura: watch?v=oK3QcZ6FvQc&amp;list=PLF30F3515EB68AFEA&amp;index=16

Chapter 28

_Tkikiteo_

_How do you kill a man?_

Riki couldn't bring herself to even think about the question. Such unusual words crossing the mind of someone her age, someone who was once normal.

They had accomplished nothing since leaving the hotel. Top that with Shirihime never actually walking alongside them. She had kept a mild distance behind the girls, as if on a leisure walk, window-shopping or even weaving into or around all sorts of buildings. She'd drift two blocks away in the opposite direction of them, and manage to find an alternate route, crossing paths with them but never looking them in the eye. Sometimes she even stepped out onto balconies and porches above their heads, barely glancing their way. Without a doubt, Riki and Audriane agreed it was creepier than Hasegawa following them.

Not that they had seen _him_ all day.

"Plan?" asked Audriane.

They stopped at the entrance to a wine bar. A white awning draped over the edge of its roof, reading in capitals MANOR DE MIGUELOA. Below it were lamps along the door trim, with humble plum tables and silver chairs. It was dark, but lively inside. Not loud, just mumbles of noise and chatter. Liquor and heat filled their nostrils, strong yet inviting at the same time.

"What we doing here, Riki?" said Audriane. "We need to find him before he finds us."

Riki grinned. "Watch your blood pressure there, Adrenaline." She hopped awkwardly, bringing one leg up behind herself to kick Audriane in the rear. "C'mon, I have an idea—not you, Shady," she added, hoping her words and secretive glare would reach Shirihime shops behind them. _Not_ acknowledging Shirihime had been hard, in case Hasegawa was lurking nearby . . .

"Let's go loosen up inside? Yeah? Yeah?" urged Riki. She nodded her head at Audriane so hard that it seemed to shake, with a grin so big it was as if she had discovered an ancient deposit. Audriane sighed and walked in.

Not a moment later, Shirihime approached the bar but sat down at one of the outside tables. She chose a seat by the pitch-dark stone windows, the kind that lacked wooden trim or glass—that way she was able to casually peek inside. She saw they'd been seated at a corner in the back of the room, where they hailed down a waiter. Not even a minute into it, and Riki was already talking with him.

Someone walked up to Shirihime.

"What the hell are they doing?" asked Sakuya. She stood there in the same chestnut-colored shirt form their morning in the library, an oversized V-neck pull-over. It was a lace-up, which dangled with fat white strings, complete with black leggings and ankle-exposing canvas shoes.

"Are you not hot in that fleece?" said Shirihime.

"And you in your Oxford shirt?" sneered Sakuya.

Shirihime ignored the comment, looking at her menu. "Astounding," she said.

"What, that Riki's high-school-girl is coming out?"

"No, that they do not serve smoked salmon with roe and pork cheek."

Sakuya looked through the window of the bar, pretending to be an interested pedestrian. "She adds a little light to Noir after all, doesn't she?"

"I had high expectations that she'd have her first drink on some _other_ special day, not this one—."

"Trust me, she _isn't_ a newbie." Sakuya pretended to whisper a secret. "I was there at those mixers." She grinned playfully at Shirihime, as if expecting her to soak up Riki's sense of fun. "Well . . . I'd better go, before Hasegawa sees me here. I'll go take care of the Laguardia police—."

"It appears the accumulation of men has exceeded five," said Shirihime as she peered into the bar.

"Huh?" Sakuya looked as well. She found herself glaring, and leaned against the wall with folded arms.

"Despicable, is it not?" said Shirihime.

"Inconceivably," growled Sakuya.

The sight of guys putting their hands on Riki and Audriane's shoulders, booming _"Sardinak, mesedez!",_ clinking drinks, challenging them to drunk arm wrestles—in a way, it was harmless and friendly. After all, Sakuya bet Riki missed this normalcy, this human connection. However, Riki continued to drink shot after shot, leaning against boys' arms, smiling at them. It insulted Sakuya and Shirihime's pride in training them for the Trials, the one thing that bonded them.

"I told them to enjoy Laguardia," said Shirihime.

"Not flirt with it," added Sakuya, shaking her head.

"Now you see what is wrong with this world?"

"Young teenage girls, alone, with men, in a foreign country?"

"No, Araki."

"Ha! Riki always knew how to be popular—."

Sakuya stopped herself short, sat down and slouched into her seat with a menu to her face.

A group of men and women walked out. When Shirihime and Sakuya looked up from their menus, a straggler followed the group.

Sakuya cursed. "It's him. He was in there."

"When did he—?" began Shirihime, whose face glowed with revelation. "He was one of those men who walked past me, to get into the bar."

Sakuya gasped. "Yeah, now that I think about it, I saw them right before joining you. He must have been using a random person to give him some casual cover. He was also dressed in civilian clothing—."

"Come," said Shirihime, getting up.

She and Sakuya followed the group, walking with strangers or behind them. This street wasn't anywhere as crowded, making them extra cautious, but thanks to Hasegawa's focus on the Saplings, they clearly didn't have to stress as much.

"Do . . . they know he's following them?" whispered Sakuya.

Shirihime didn't answer, eyes on Hasegawa. She looked back to the Saplings. Riki was laughing loud and obnoxiously to every word one guy said, who clearly wasn't telling jokes—while Audriane was juggling two men and their female companion asking her personal questions.

Within a full hour, the group had already bar-hopped four different restaurants. They stayed in each for as long as it took to drink a glass of wine or devour a _pintxo_ or two, which was a good fifteen minutes. Their new "friends" even encouraged the Basques' favorite beer, the San Miguel. At one point, Audriane was pressured to a smoke, coughing up a storm. There were shouts in their conversations about Bilbao or San Sebastian's football teams. The personal topics put Sakuya and Shirihime on edge, but thankfully Riki and Audriane used their aliases.

"We cannot loiter together like this," said Shirihime. "I shall remain here. You take to the rooftops." Before Sakuya could move, Shirihime added, "Remember, we cannot interfere whatsoever. You knew it would come to this. It is _their_ Trial. Even if it means their death. Hasegawa cannot possibly try anything, not in this public setting. After all, he is an investigator. He will execute this calmly, privately, from afar. If my speculations are right, he has the slightest clue on what's going on."

"Maybe he's trying to figure out if they look like the missing photos," said Sakuya hurriedly.

"We cannot hope on that."

"Then let's hope Riki and Audriane know what they're doing—!"

Sakuya didn't even finish her sentence as she raced away. She found an alley, narrow enough for a tic-tac. She charged up the wall and bounced to the opposite one, and back again, and hauled herself over the edge with ease. From there, she prowled the rooftops. She stayed low and hidden, but visible enough for her mentor to track her. Only when Shirihime lost sight of their targets due to fear of being detected and slowing down would Sakuya signal from the rooftops on which direction to go.

Shirihime watched the Third race across all sorts of rooftops, balancing on ledges, jumping from residential porch to balcony to tower. Diving across gaps, catching on ledges with powerful grip strength. Fast, but undetectable, shimming around corners, along gutters and pipes. Soundless on every landing, every roll, every slam against walls she ventured over. Didn't mean it was easy. Rollercoasting lumpy, unpredictable structures without making sound slowed her down just a tad. Riki and Audriane's aloofness also made it far from easy, having to worry about Noir who, at this point, should not have needed this extra supervision.

Regardless, Shirihime was proud.

Up ahead of her, she noticed Hasegawa stopping when the group stopped. He leaned against a wall, taking out a cigarette and lighting it.

Shirihime expected the Saplings to wave their goodbyes—however, Audriane was being escorted into one bar, while Riki swayed down the street with her new buddies, heading toward a marketplace by the river of skinny trees and crates and strings of red pepper everywhere.

Shirihime looked back at Hasegawa.

He looked after Audriane, then Riki.

_This marks the moment,_ thought Shirihime. Even though she wanted to intervene and remove Hasegawa from her worries, tradition stated that it had to be the Saplings.

Against her own desires, she lingered.

Hasegawa disappeared after Riki.

From a neighboring street, Sakuya rejoined Shirihime. "What are you waiting for?" she panted.

"I will not have your devotion to her cloud your mind. Go follow Adrenaline," ordered Shirihime. "It's all on Araki, now."

Sakuya tried catching her breath, only for it to be taken away when she caught the last glimpse of Riki turning a corner around the Iglesia de Santa Maria de Los Reyes. Hasegawa slowly made his way around, too.

"You have your duties, she has hers," said Shirihime.

She waved Sakuya off, who returned to the connected rooftops. With that out of the way, Shirihime picked up her pace after Riki and Hasegawa. Once she turned the corner, she slowed. She didn't want her anxious scuffling to draw attention.

However, when she looked around, neither Riki or Hasegawa were nowhere to be seen.

…..

_How do you kill a man?_

In Riki's grogginess, that question still buzzed like the small voice of a mosquito in the back of her mind. _How_, was easy to answer; she just hadn't decided which method to use. It was the _how could I?_ that she struggled with. It would probably never go away, even after all of this.

Her group of friendlies munched on left-over _tkikiteo_, especially sardines. Some leaned into each other in slurs, or swayed off in their own drunken directions.

Riki has had plenty of drinks in her life-time. She drank every evening with her parents on their balcony, overlooking the suburban's. Such practice gave her clarity of mind when she decided to ditch her group, even in the following stunt she was about to do. Once no one was looking—pointing everywhere excitedly, arms around each other's shoulders, or stopping and leaning against walls—Riki jumped over the wall they tread. She rolled, then pressed against the wall, waiting for her acquaintances to notice. All she heard was shuffled walking and talking. She ran toward the next wall below, and landed, and hid again. Still no sounds of confusion.

_Where is he?_ she thought as she looked around. _I made sure he saw me. _It was disappointing and relieving altogether.

She vaulted the last wall onto the manicured grass of a courtyard, next to a dirt patch surrounded by stone rectangles. It was a secluded park, surrounded by the same walls she jumped, on all three sides. An old-fashioned medieval tower with a white flag stood proudly in one corner.

"Maybe . . ." whispered Riki, looking up. Residential buildings right there atop one of the walls, with laundry, peppers, and flower pots out in the sun. Anyone could look out those tiny windows any second. Perfect. Hasegawa wouldn't be tempted to make a scene.

Veering away from the population should have been easy, allowing her to lure Hasegawa somewhere isolated yet non-conspicuous. Not just that, but as an official, he would never cause a commotion here . . . would he?

_A simple plan, right?_

For some reason, thinking those exact words . . . it was like painful stitches to her heart. Riki ran her hand through her hair. Then pulled at the sides of her face, eyes sagging. _How to kill a man . . ._ Sakuya had taught her basic knife combat, but compared to hand-to-hand, it was little. Riki clutched her temple, fingers clawing through, pulling hair with them. _Could I?_ With the heels of her hands, she tapped her head as if hoping to purge cynical thoughts.

Alert, Riki took the path that covered the inner perimeter. She walked through a stoned archway in one of the walls. She stopped. Pulling out her gun, she clicked on the silencer, thinking of all those sit-down, interactive lectures on the different parts of the gun with Mireille and Kirika. Just as she tucked it into the back of her shirt, a woman with a baby stroller jogged through the archway. She was startled by Riki standing there, but smiled, and bobbed along.

She was accompanied by a man, who stopped and looked at Riki.

"About time," said Hasegawa.

Riki's heart seemed to stutter in her chest. All that training on reflexes—and none of it prepared her for this. She was grateful that her fingers were still wrapped around her gun against her back—and yet she wasn't fast enough.

"I've got a gun pointed at you," said Hasegawa.

Riki's heart skipped a beat as she noticed Hasegawa's hands tucked into his stout coat. One of its pockets bulged. _Must be a modern revolver in there_, she thought. _Damn, they taught me how to disarm . . . but not against a move like _that_!_ She'd wished she had thought of the same thing, it would've at least made them evenly matched.

"You're coming with me, even if it means shooting you," he said.

And here she was concerned about killing him.

_A Soldat among the Tokyo police,_ Kirika had said. None of them should be trusted; Mireille made that clear. _Don't get attached,_ warned Kirika.

Hasegawa wasn't the every-day freaky mask and black suit—just an ordinary man. Regardless, Riki had given it some thought up to this point. Nice-looking investigator or not, he was intent on removing her and Audriane from Mireille and Kirika without explaining to where or why. As far she was concerned, she didn't plan on leaving behind a once-unfamiliar world to another. Not yet.

"Let's sit," said Hasegawa, nodding back toward the park. He stepped aside to let Riki walk through the archway first, removing her gun from the back of her jeans. When they walked back into the park, they sat on a bench by trimmed, round bushes and spiraling trees with pointy tips. It was right there against the same wall Riki jumped.

"So, you're Noir, and yet a humble investigator like me caught you off guard?" said Hasegawa, giving her image a flicker. His shock over her appearance seemed to have pass—in fact, she figured he'd always expected this.

"So," began Riki, "is an ordinary investigator like you as kind as you look—or once a Soldat, always a Soldat?"

Hasegawa shrugged. "Everyone has their opinions."

On the outside, Riki's body was still, her skin without goose bumps. But just beneath the surface, in her muscles, it was like she was experiencing a buzz, a vibration. It was dread. Anticipation. Weakness. And a bit of curiosity.

It'd been a while since she and Audriane had fought the Knights. However, a group of masked men, Riki could take. A sneaky individual, on the other hand, whose expression dug into her soul she'd been trying to protect all this time . . .

Why hadn't he made any moves till now? All day, he'd been obviously watching. Thinking. What was he looking for, what was his goal?

"So . . .?" began Riki, every word shaking with dread. "You've . . . obviously been watching us for some time. I know you've asked around, but what brought you all the way over to this small town in big ol' Europe?"

Hasegawa reached into his coat and pulled out something small. "It's no secret—and it's a bad one." It was Mireille's fake ID. "Once it was reported she'd been supposedly shot, then missing, we looked her up."

"How were you able to find her out? She's an underworld _assassin_."

Hasegawa gave a blank chuckle. "You forget the power of the Soldats."

"Yeah, the _different_ kinds of Soldats," emphasized Riki. "Who sent you here? It had to been someone who recognized Mireille's face."

"There's no point saying their names; you don't know them." Hasegawa paused. "But would you like to put a face to those names . . . and meet them?"

Was it _that_ easy? No way. Riki didn't buy it, but what Hasegawa said next was not an offer she expected.

"And after you meet them, would you also like to see your family again?"

The emotions Riki thought didn't exist anymore crashed to the floor, an inaudible mess at her feet, that which she didn't know what to do with. Her chest filled with liberation, joy, and pain. A sob cracked through her trembling lips. The tears had already fallen before she felt them.

And just like that, she remembered something grave. Something deep within herself that she had learned long ago. A promise, to herself, that she'd never fall for this again. For good news. The world was not what she had thought, even on this sunny day in peaceful Laguardia. Since the massacre, she had cried herself to sleep, chanting to herself, promising herself, to never hope.

"What do you say?" said Hasegawa. "What if I take you back home?"

It was the first time his tone sounded . . . genuine, fatherly, human.

The emetic words came out themselves. "And what if you're lying?" croaked Riki. She swallowed her sharp emotions, her tears already drying.

"The gun's not for you," said Hasegawa. "It's for that woman that's been following you and Dupont—following me. Wherever she's watching from, I need her to know that I'm in control. She won't shoot _me_ if she thinks I've held you hostage."

"But how can I be sure, about your gun?" said Riki, her voice low. "I don't even know if you actually have one in that pocket. Show it to me."

"I can't. There are civilians around."

Riki glared. "That's considerate from the man pointing a gun at me."

"I only did it because _you_ had a gun."

"Now that I don't—what now?"

"I have some friends at the police station who will get you on the next flight back to Tokyo. I'll go find your friend—."

"Wait," said Riki. "I can't."

Hasegawa stared at her, as if he knew her inside-out. "Isn't this what you've always wanted?"

"I . . . I told myself I wouldn't leave without Sakuya."

"Sakuya?" Hasegawa's expression dawned with anxiety. "That other missing student? She's here?" He spun around, pacing back and forth, cursing under his breath. "They _have_ her?"

"Y-yeah . . ." stammered Riki, tracing his movements. "That's what she told me. Whoever saved her from the school brought her here—."

"What do you mean _whoever_?" exploded Hasegawa, throwing his arms in the air. In that blur, Riki saw his tiny silver revolver. He hadn't lied. That was clear as he held the gun at her. It stayed low, by his waist, his elbow bent, as if he was clutching his belt.

"We gotta go," he said hurriedly, with his gun, gesturing Riki to stand. "If they have the Third Sapling—if she's been brainwashed . . ." He dropped his voice, to avoid making a scene in front of the people reading in the grass. "If she kills us . . ."

"Who's _they_?" asked Riki.

Hasegawa grabbed her arm to hurry her along, prodding her from behind. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you. But you're not the only one who wants to see family again—."

"Who? Who is it that's scaring you?" hissed Riki. "Are you talking about the Second Faction? The one that saved Sakuya—?"

"They didn't save her, _we_—!"

There was a gunshot.


	29. Chapter 29: Identity

**Author's Note: **I'm feeling the writer's flow, excited to move on to next chapter! So, I guess for this chapter, Yukia Kajiura's "Ordinary Sunset" seemed to fit watch?v=yDFdSVOequA .

Chapter 29

Identity

_Sh-lap! Sh-lap! Sh-lap! Cla-lick. _

Riki shot at the wall.

_Sh-lap! Sh-lap! Sh-lap! Cla-lick._

The sound of a suppressed gun. That's what it sounded like when Hasegawa died, too. At that time, it was more like someone whipping a belt in a tiled hallway. An echo in Riki's memories, already distant. Down here in El Fabulista, the sound exploded in Riki's head and all around.

Now it was Audriane's turn. She lifted her gun and shot at a sporadic group of circles along the walls. Her gunshots echoed throughout the tunnels.

"We finally got some target practice down here yet the atmosphere's so somber," said Mireille. To the lack of response, she frowned, observing the circles. "Too bad we weren't the first ones down here."

She glanced at Sakuya, who sat on a barrel, watching. Mireille wondered how the Third traveled. The last time they saw her was only a few days ago back at Etxarren, before departing for Laguardia.

"You think Thirds only use knives, don't you?" said Sakuya, with a flat expression. "What kind of Thirds would we be without versatility?"

It wasn't just Sakuya who put Mireille on edge: the tour guide who accompanied them. The man favored the traditional trench-coat to hide his marred face—which nearly got him shot when the party tried to sneak down here after hours. If Sakuya hadn't come along to vouch for him, they would've killed what they thought was a monster.

"Didn't anyone teach you staring is rude?" said Sakuya, bulging her eyes at Mireille.

"I was curious as to why he's been making all that noise since we got down here?" said Mireille, watching the stranger hammering at the metal hoops of wine barrels with a chisel. It almost overpowered Riki's target practice.

"I asked him to loosen the lids to barrels," said Sakuya. "In case anyone hears us, we'd be able to hide in them. They're marked throughout El Fabulista."

"Smart," said Audriane, nodding at the idea.

"I doubt it would come to it," said Sakuya. "After all, you'd be here after tour hours."

_In his condition, he must be on medical leave from work—do his co-workers know he's down here helping us?_ thought Mireille. His disfigurement was terrifying yet mysterious altogether that, aside from working here, she wondered what his role was in all of this.

The blast of bullets and crackling in the walls brought Mireille back to reality. She continued to comment on Riki's shooting accuracy. It'd only been a few hours since their first commission. Upon return, Riki had been quiet, taking the criticism without the usual comebacks.

Mireille looked sideways at Kirika. "You say she reminds you of me," she said, "but honestly, I think she's more like you."

"I can hear you," murmured Riki, reloading.

Their words cut through Riki like a bullet, like the phantom sound it leaves behind. She thought back to how she watched Hasegawa fall in front of her, slamming into the ground chin-first. The gunshot took him from behind, making him fly a foot ahead of himself, his feet still kicking from running. Riki was grateful to have not seen the light leave his eyes. She felt guilty for thinking just that. No, for _not_ feeling guilty—only a pinch of sorrow; there was a difference. After all, she'd only talked with Hasegawa for a few minutes before Audriane sniped him.

There were bigger concerns at hand anyway: Hasegawa hadn't been alone. A squad of Knights had been in hiding, among the rooftops. The Third Faction. Who else. They shot at Riki, making it easy for her to forget about someone else's life when hers was in danger. Forcing her to add Hasegawa to the body count.

"Riki . . .?" whispered Audriane.

Riki didn't know what to feel until Audriane put a hand on her shoulder. A different kind of horrible dwelled inside: incompetence, failure, loathing. She shouldn't have felt horrible that Audriane, of all people, successfully pinned down their first target. It was a _good_ thing that Audriane could finally shoot that damn thing—so what felt wrong here?

"Why'd you shoot him?" muttered Riki. She continued to fire, venting with the same object she told herself _never_ to lift against another human being.

"I told you, Riki," said Audriane softly. "I thought he take you away, or worse, shoot you. I not want that to happen. We would lost you."

Riki remembered feeling numb when it had happened. The only thing that had run through her head was, _Hurry! _She had felt Hasegawa's neck for a pulse. At the same time, checked his pockets, apologizing. Meanwhile, Audriane's silencer only did so much to prevent all of Laguardia from hearing the gunfire. It was supposed to have been _one_ gunshot—but then the Knights retaliated. And there'd been witnesses. The pedestrians strolling or reading in the park . . . they ran, only to fall by Audriane's bullets. At least, in the crossfire. Still, it was the last thing Riki ever expected.

The second thing she least expected was Shirihime's disappearance, followed by Sakuya's appearance. When Riki and Audriane stopped to catch their breath in an alley, Sakuya helped them sneak away dodging police, Knights, and witnesses altogether.

"It's about time someone taught you how to trek across all sorts of terrain," said Sakuya. "Especially rooftops. You've got the upper-body strength to climb over walls, and you can definitely jump. You should've taken Hasegawa in an alley. You could have slipped out easy without anyone noticing—."

"We chose somewhere public, not crowded, where he not eliminate us, but _we_ eliminate him," said Audriane.

"We're not like you," blurted Riki. "Not sneaky, swift, controlled, or heartless."

Sakuya's face wrinkled with emotion. She sucked in air. "Heartless, huh?" Without dropping Riki's gaze, she unsheathed the knives strapped to her back under her tunic-like attire, and pointed one right at one of the bullet holes.

"This could've been you," she said. She flung her knife. It sounded off a heart-jolting thud, which rang upon impact. Grabbing Riki's gun, Sakuya fired at the same knife. It flicked out of the hole, in which she then shot three consecutive bullets.

"Looks like they could've used _someone's_ help out there," said Mireille.

"That also could've been you," continued Sakuya. She lowered Rik's gun. Stepping forward, she put two hands on Riki's shoulders then slowly came in for a hug. Riki felt a prickle of tears at the corners of her eyes.

Sakuya squeezed. "There are times to let the feelings out, and times to let them in. You gotta' be careful."

Riki's body shuddered as her face sank into Sakuya's shoulder. "Don't do that," she whispered. "Don't tell me to feel nothing in all of this. You, of all people—."

"I've felt it too, ok?" whispered Sakuya. "Plenty of times—it just . . . takes time."

"Of course," whispered Riki. She withdrew, with blaming eyes, trying so hard to figure Sakuya out. What had happened to her that hardened her so fast . . .?

Hands on her hips, Riki stood there. Sniffling, she looked away from everyone. Sakuya slumped, looking to Noir pleadingly.

"Riki, it's over, ok?" coaxed Audriane. "No more of it, we're done—."

"No we're _not_," snapped Riki. "You should've let me talk to him. I was trying to _chat_ the answers out of him—."

"It was _your_ divide-and-conquer plan!" gasped Audriane. "To confuse him! To make him believe he only need worry about one of us. In case he hurt you, I surprise him!"

Riki began tapping her thigh as if shaking a handful of dice. "You, who don't have the skills to be an assassin, yet _capable_ of taking innocent lives . . .!"

Audriane's heard this for the _last_ time, about lacking marksmanship. She always knew this, and didn't need Riki to remind her. Riki's refusal to look anyone in the eyes, especially hers, was a slap in the face, an accusation—that Audriane _liked_ this. No. She was not like Sakuya. Back then, in her hazy mind, were two words: _wait or shoot?_ Choices and consequences, which she'd gladly face because it meant _Riki_ would live.

Riki blaming her was _not_ one of those consequences she expected, though.

She glared, while Riki continued to tap her fist on her own thigh.

Kirika frowned at the enmity. _Being so far away detached Audriane from an experience Riki felt up-close_. _And they were starting to show camaraderie._

"Because you shot too soon, police are gonna notice his absence—no, find his body!" said Riki. "They'll know it was us. And now we're in deep shit—."

"Do NOT!" cried Audriane, streaming her fingers through her bangs. "Don't blame me! You could have died! _You_, the capable one—!"

Riki leveled her gun at the wall. Her shots became faster, lighting up the walls. Each one hit the middle of a circle, until the gun clicked, empty.

Mireille spoke gently, but to the point. "Now that you've steamed off, do you know if anyone else was helping Hasegawa? We can't have loose ends."

Riki's face went blank, but she finally caved in and spoke. "Some 'guys' at the police station. He didn't say who, though."

"Probably to protect his comrades," cursed Mireille.

"Riki, why didn't you say something sooner?" said Kirika. "This is bad—."

"He offered to bring us back home, to see our families," blurted Riki.

To this, Audriane's face lit for a second.

"That's a strange thing to say," said Kirika.

"He could have been lying," said Mireille. "After all, it's the Third Faction."

"I know," said Riki.

Audriane felt hopeful and stupid for believing anything like that, not just because Riki would glare at her for it.

She turned to their trainers. "We know nothing about Third Faction. _Are_ they really dangerous? Hasegawa said he take us home. _You_ didn't. You took us—."

"To _save_ you," insisted Kirika, annoyed.

"You forget something, Audriane," said Sakuya. "Whoever started all of this was there at our school. They're the reason why our classmates died. They tried to kill _us_. You, me, and Riki. Not to mention they tried to kidnap me, but luckily, my people saved me."

"Her people," chuckled Mireille. "I wish _I_ could put a face to these 'people'—."

"That's the other thing," blurted Riki. "Hasegawa said I'd be able to meet them."

"_Who?"_ exclaimed Kirika and Sakuya.

"Whoever's behind the Third Faction. That was all he said."

"Trap," declared Mireille. "You almost believed him."

Before they could argue, Sakuya said, "I guess that leaves us to one last resort. Riki, did you manage to grab anything from the scene? Any other hints?"

Riki shook her head. Even with Audriane stalling, she still wouldn't have had the time before the police or more witnesses rushed to the scene.

Sakuya nodded in understanding. "In that case, this is a dire situation. I'll rush back over, see if I can swipe anything off his possession."

"I doubt you'd make it to Hasegawa's body before the police," retorted Mireille.

Sakuya ignored her. "All of you relax. Audriane, Riki . . . you did ok."

She took Riki's hand and gave it a quick squeeze—the kind that wanted to linger. She almost lifted her hand to Riki's cheek, but brushed strands of hair from Riki's face. When she passed Audriane and gave her a nod, she patted her shoulder. It was subtle and awkward, but held meaning.

"Here's the map for your way out," said Sakuya, handing it to Kirika. "It's a copy of the original that's hanging in the front office."

Sakuya rejoined their tour guide, who had been standing guard at the end of the tunnel. He escorted her away, having memorized the cellars. It was a shame: Mireille had been planning on asking him questions. But she knew better than to prod a man with a broken jaw, nor Sakuya, the one who _never_ answered anything, who only helped at the strangest moments.

_Speaking of which . . ._ thought Mireille, as she watched the way Riki's eyes followed Sakuya.

"What was _that_?" asked Mireille, cocking an eyebrow.

Riki looked away.

"Well," said Audriane slowly, "at least Sakuya is a _caring_ Third. Better than a psycho?"

Riki didn't answer, reaching behind her head and unwrapping something from her ponytail. It wasn't a hair-tie.

"What's that?" asked Mireille. She grabbed the gray object dangling from Riki's fist.

"A key fob," said Riki. "It was around Hasegawa's neck, under his shirt. So I tied it around my ponytail. And that's not it." She struggled for something fat and leathery from her jeans. It was soaked dark with blood.

"His _wallet_?" gasped Audriane, picking through its contents.

"When did you . . .?" said Mireille, awing at Riki.

"That why you not flee?" exclaimed Audriane. "I kept yelling that you run!"

"And _why_ didn't you show us sooner?" asked Mireille.

Riki kept her eyes on the wallet. "Because I didn't want Sakuya to hear." Before anyone could tackle her with questions, she added, "Hasegawa said something weird just before he died. He found out that Sakuya was here. When he heard about her 'kidnap', he acted strange, as if it. . . wasn't true. But here's the thing—I don't even know if that's what he meant. He never got to finish what he was going to say."

"I knew something was up with that Third—," began Mireille.

"_Sakuya,"_ growled Riki.

"So he was referring to the identity of the Second Faction?" gasped Kirika. "Did he say anything else about _his_ faction—the Third Faction?"

"I'm telling you, I got nothing out of all our efforts," said Riki, defeated. "I thought I could do this without anyone dying. I thought I could do this my way, the right way . . ."

"You made something good out of a bad situation," said Kirika, taking the wallet from Mireille after it's been passed around. "For instance, instead of fleeing, you took the time to scavenge. It may seem little—but if we connect what Hasegawa said to your evidence here . . . then maybe it's enough."

….

Back at Villa de Laguardia Sercotel Hotel, the party inspected Hasegawa's wallet. They dumped out cash, a notepad, photos, and cards. When it came to his driver's license, Riki claimed it and tucked it into her back pocket. No one questioned her.

"There are so many things that bother me," said Mireille, leaning forward on her knees. "One being, that damn woman. Where did Shirihime go?"

"We split up to confuse not just Hasegawa but her," said Riki. "Bringing Shady along was pointless. She did _nothing_—just drifted around Laguardia like a ghost. She never had any intentions on helping us."

"Maybe she didn't think you needed it," said Kirika, shrugging.

"You're too good for your own good, ya know that Kirika?" said Mireille. She looked back at the teenagers. "Shirihime was only there to ensure you stuck to the contract through-and-through. She's technically our contractor—_your_ contractor. I think after what happened today, you know that this is no longer training. This is the real world. Real contracts."

"So . . . we're being paid our first check for killing Hasegawa?" whispered Riki. "Well, I don't want the money—."

"What happens after our 'five days' are up?" asked Audriane.

Her question was like someone turned on a switch. Everyone forgot about the mysterious deadline Shirihime mentioned upon arrival in Laguardia.

"I guess we'll see," said Mireille. "But let's focus at our current puzzle. One target at a time; we're still on Hasegawa. So. How did he find us in Laguardia? Who or what brought him to the library? According to Shirihime, he was there shortly after we were. That can only mean that he was led there somehow."

"Hopefully we find answers to that in his wallet and this fob," said Kirika, twirling the teardrop-shaped object between her fingers.

"With that said," announced Mireille, scanning their items, "we've got a photo of his daughter. Then a ticket to the parking garage he uses at work; his business card; a notepad full of a lot vague notes; a photo of his pit-bull . . ."

"That appears to be it," said Kirika, flipping the dog photo over. "Other than the sentimental caption, 'In loving memory of Snarls'. That's sad."

"Should've grabbed his phone," said Mireille, sighing. "We'd know who he's been talking to."

"We couldn't stick around," said Riki. The way she said it had moved beyond sorrow and guilt. It was becoming grief. Hasegawa was a reminder of how this all started, and a reminder that this was what her future beheld. Men whose faces were covered by masks were easy to kill. But Hasegawa had a face, and a family . . .

"Riki . . ." said Audriane. "You prefer I kill Hasegawa . . . or you?"

"I prefer that _no one_ died," said Riki firmly.

"People die, Riki . . ." murmured Audriane. She thought of Professor Tokiha from school—never had stopped thinking about him.

"If it means any consolation," said Kirika, "you can keep his driver's license, Riki. I still keep my school ID from long ago, to remind myself who I am."

"Yeah," said Riki. She gave a thoughtful pause, then rose to her feet. "I think I'm done for the night."

"Uh, we have a _problem_ here—?" began Audriane, but Mireille shook her head at her.

Riki nodded gratefully at Mireille and walked away from the table. She didn't go to bed, though. She opened the window to their crescent-shaped porch, and stood out there. They saw her pull out Hasegawa's ID.

"Killing someone is sad," said Audriane. "But . . . Riki is being unreasonable!" She wiped her tears with her arm, her face red.

"Your first target can change you," said Kirika softly.

"It's just a matter of whether or not you let that be a good thing or a bad thing," said Mireille.

Audriane was sick of all the sentimental silence. Even though their mentors guided them this whole time, their words held little meaning compared to their silence. So much has not been said. So when they just sat there waiting for Audriane to say or do something, she couldn't help but feel the same thing, waiting and wondering.

Mireille nodded toward the porch. "Go. She's your partner."

…..

The sky bled its last crimson before the inky wash of night took over. The pool and restaurant lights became part of a still-life painting as Riki and Audriane stared out toward the dark mountains. The sound of a single gun-shot drained out the night-life noise, repeating itself over and over in their minds.

It was only a few minutes after Audriane came out that she decided to break the silence.

"If you not talk to me, find someone else," she said. "You need _someone_ to talk to, even if it cannot be me. Maybe Mireille—?"

"I'm not mad at you, Audriane," said Riki in the quietest tone Audriane ever heard coming from her.

"Riki," blurted Audriane. "I didn't want you to die! Sure, maybe, if I let Hasegawa speak longer, I would know he not a bad Soldat—."

"I told you, I'm not mad at you," repeated Riki, her voice still fragile.

The air was hot and thick. Riki felt it press into her skin, making her thoughts burn with misery. She felt a crumbling wall in the space between her and Audriane, both of them snugged onto that small porch that barely fit two people.

"We were told this was the real contract," said Riki. "We were so used to being trained, we thought that included our emotions. But that was never Mireille and Kirika's jobs—not even yours, as my partner. It had to be me. And yet I couldn't do it, I couldn't pull the trigger. I let him talk, I let him mention to me he had a family. I let him get to me, even though he barely said anything. Because of that, I still took his wallet and his ID and his life. Even though _you_ did it, I felt like it was my fault, and I don't know why."

Riki pushed herself back and forth from the rail. "Dammit," she hissed, "Dammit, dammit, _dammit_! I'm sorry! I'm sorry that I'm weak—I'm sorry Audriane."

Audriane said nothing, half her face snuggled into her arms on the rail.

"At least one of us gets things done." Riki half-chuckled. "That's who you are: Audripedia, determined, hard-working, studying abroad to get away from whatever it was back at home."

Audriane slowly looked up, shocked. She felt tense but light-headed with emotion altogether.

"Well, whatever it was," muttered Riki, "it made you a stronger person than I ever will be."

She handed Audriane the ID.

"I bet everyone remembers a good man like Hasegawa," said Riki. "Do you think anyone will remember Riki Araki and Audriane Dupont? All they'll have is our school ID's to remember us by . . ."

Riki saw Audriane's tears collecting between her arms and upper lip. But neither of them knew what to say, and kept it that way.

Another minute passed. They heard the TV back inside. They tried to take in the laughter, the world; they never realized how noisy it all got.

"For some crazy reason," said Riki, "I'd like to _believe_ Hasegawa was a good man. So the best I can do is honor him. Be like him, doing whatever it takes, even if it costs the life of another or my own."

"Don't be an idiot," whispered Audriane. "No one is asking you to be a cold-hearted killer. There not a killer in your bones. Just because you learn the skills, it not define you."

"It's okay, Audriane. Next time . . . I won't hesitate."

For some reason, hearing Riki say that, it broke Audriane's heart. All that annoying, intense energy, that resistance to the reality of this world had kept Riki going. But those last words broke a spirit Audriane finally realized and understood.


	30. Chapter 30: Missing Pieces

**Author's Note: **Sorry it's been so long! Been trying to figure out how the next chapters should go. For the first part, listen to "Daylife" from the amazing anime movie _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time!_ watch?v=IT2pHxuZD1c&amp;index=9&amp;list=PL6C7AEA31B943B736 For the second part, listen to "Witner's Tale ll": watch?v=z5PJS6Mh5Ik

Chapter 30

Missing Pieces

"No word from Sakuya," said Riki the next morning. "I'm assuming she didn't find anything at the crime scene."

"Thanks to _you_," praised Kirika, serving everyone morning tea with Audriane's help.

"Let's hope Riki really did remove all evidence," said Mireille. "Because that leaves us with the library again. The website on Hasegawa's business card is the best clue we've got."

"What about that librarian?" admonished Audriane. "She'll recognize us."

"We're lucky," said Mireille ruefully. "Last night on the Laguardia news, there were reports of the shooting—but nowhere was Hasegawa mentioned. So everyone he's met won't report anything if they don't know he's dead. His faction probably avoids broadcasting their moves, so covering his death was just that. With that said, we hurry. Three more days until your contract expires."

Kirika murmured to herself, "Until _what_?"

"You forget this is Shady we're talking about," growled Riki. "I wonder what she's been up to since Hasegawa?" She paused, looked at his ID. "_Ginko_. I won't let your name die. You'll be remembered, somehow."

When everyone finished breakfast, they threw on their shoes and headed out the door one-by-one. Except for Mireille, who saw Riki slip the ID into her breastpocket.

"You shouldn't be carrying that around," said Mireille. "That's evidence. Keep it in the safe in the closet."

"Sorry," said Riki, "but I don't trust it being in there."

Mireille's expression wasn't imperious, but it wasn't lenient either. Riki didn't glare back, but her unwavering eyes told Mireille to give it up. The Corsican sighed and led the party downtown.

They were walking by the hair salon where the children got their haircut when Kirika stopped and turned around. Riki and Audriane and Mireille halted behind her.

"What?" asked Riki, raising an eye brow.

"Well, we've thought about it," said Mireille, "and realized what's more important, for you, is to prove yourselves to Sir Asher and Shirihime by focusing on your contract."

"Wait, so, we're not even going to the library?"

"If that librarian sees you two again, she'll notify Hasegawa. Even though he's dead, we can't risk her _trying_ in case she brings it to the police's attention. Any Soldats in the police will know where we are."

"Why police not _actively_ search for us?" mused Audriane.

"Perhaps our arrest would become public and ask for the wrong kind of attention from other factions," said Kirika.

"Which means someone could be watching us any time, even now," said Mireille. "So when you're out here alone, keep a look out, while we handle the research—."

"But it was _me_ who retrieved that evidence!" protested Riki. "That should be my concern, my project! I owe him that much to read what he may know—!"

"Does it matter who researches?" said Mireille, vexed. "You sure show compassion in the weirdest ways. Look, three days isn't a long time. We'll be killing two birds with one stone with you doing this, and us researching. So we move on from Hasegawa to the next target, get it over and done with. Enough sulking on it—just _do_ it."

"Well, _who_ is our target?" asked Audriane.

Mireille folded her arms, as if to relax, but only ended up stiffening. She looked sideways at Kirika—who hesitated, then pulled out a photo. The teenagers looked at it anxiously. The turmoil in Kirika's eyes was evident, especially when she didn't hand over the photo.

"Who's our next target?" asked Riki.

"There were some things we wanted to tell you but didn't have the chance to," said Kirika. "With last night being emotional, we decided to wait it off. While you were gone yesterday, we looked up Basque history in the library, anything that could shed some light on the mystery behind Sir Asher and Shirihime—."

"You're saying Sir Asher is Basque or something?" interrupted Riki.

"I knew it!" exclaimed Audriane.

"Yes. In fact, we found something strange and unique," said Kirika. "There is this traditional shepherd's staff among the Basques called a _makila_. For one of high rank, it is a cane made of unique material, and we believe Asher-—being the leader of his own faction—has one. When the leader steps down, he bestows _makila_ to whomever he deems fit for the responsibility. But Sir Asher does not have his."

"What's your point?" began Riki, reaching for the photo in Kirika's hands.

Kirika stepped back, hiding the photo behind her back.

"You want to know who Sir Asher is, right?" said Mireille. "At the least, this _makila_ will give us information about him—maybe, eventually, reveal where he is. So to take all the pressure off you, we will do the research . . ."

Kirika jumped in. "You just do your job. We _need_ Sir Asher and Shirihime thinking you're focused on the Trials. Meanwhile, Mireille and I sneak up behind them. The fob, the wallet, and the _makila_ will help us with that."

"So, Asher is Basque . . . and Shirihime?" asked Audriane, confused.

Kirika looked at Mireille.

"Spit it out, what _about_ Shady?" said Riki.

"She's . . . Asher's daughter," said Kirika.

"Whoa, really?"

"Adopted daughter."

"Beautiful. The one thing we have in common. Wait, how you find out about all this?"

"Some of our contacts sent us a photo of Asher back in his prime," said Mireille. "In the photo next to him was little Shirihime. Anyway, speaking of photos . . ."

Mireille snatched the photo from behind Kirika and handed it to Audriane. She didn't let go, however. She made sure it stayed flipped, so that its blank side was facing up. Riki stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Audriane, as they waited for last-minute advice.

"Who knows what's coming up in the next few days?" said Mireille, facing them. "Whatever it is, don't hesitate."

She walked away, in the direction of the library.

Kirika didn't look the girls in the eyes as she took a separate street.

…..

So far, Mireille hadn't seen that librarian anywhere. Relieved, she got right to work. With only three days left until who-knows-what, she needed the internet as much as possible.

She started with international news broadcasting channels, like i24 News: Europe, and Veooz, a popular news site in the Basque Country, where she double-checked the news to make sure Hasegawa hadn't been mentioned. The only bodies found were of the witnesses that'd been shot. Other details concerned those who were in earshot of the battle. There was a discussion on the blood splatter forensics, from which direction the bullets came. Police had an idea of where Audriane and the Knights had shot from, but it was too many sources of origins that it got confusing. It'd take them a while to piece together the puzzle, giving Noir time to continue with their plans.

_Being a small, peaceful town has its up's and down's,_ thought Mireille.

So many questions, so many concerns. Finding the third faction before they found them. Sakuya's role. Shirihime's role. Sir Asher's role. Riki, emotionally unstable, and Audriane, blindly loyal to her, on their own on their second assignment. Kirika flying solo at La Hoya Museum.

And Mireille herself, at the library, alone with a wallet and a fob.

_The less of us, the better,_ she thought, typing. _It's safer. _

Mireille looked around. No sign of that librarian. She glanced back at her computer, then, at the key fob. She noticed faint characters etched into it.

1K05T.

"To _what_?" she grumbled.

She moved on, and pulled out Hasegawa's business card.

_Click_.

There was a link on the bottom of the main webpage for employee login. _What would Hasegawa's password be? _Mireille impatiently tapped the mouse with her index finger.She clicked the "I forgot my password" link, and a list of questions popped up:

What is your child(dren)'s name?

What is your child(dren)'s age?

Where do your park your car?

What is the name of your pet?

Mireille slid out the contents of the wallet and typed in the answers.

Shibuya Carousel Car Garage

Snarls

She examined the photo of Hasegawa's daughter. She was short-haired like Kirika, with big round watery eyes, almost kitten-like, leaving no room for the whites of the eyes. It was a birthday photo, with a small orange-and-white cake in front of her. Two candles were lit.

Mireille was glad she was doing this research. She could hear Riki's voice right now: _He had a daughter! We're murderers! We're no better than the Soldats! _

It wasn't just research and firearms that those girls needed to learn. It was this mission. Taking contracts without hesitation. Working together. Being fearless, yet accepting death—not just their own.

Mireille looked closer at the frosting on the cake, which was in Japanese, and at an awkward perspective. She had to flip it upside-down and squint at the caption on the cake to translate it.

The computer blinked. Mireille looked up, saw that the questions had been on a timer. The page expired. Vexed, she reloaded and went through the questions process again and punched in the answers.

Ryoko

Two-years-old

Shibuya Carousel Car Garage

Snarls

The page loaded, glowing with a series of names and numbers. They were case files, a whole series of them. Some said "open/active", others were "closed".

She opened the first available one. Under "Case Number" were the digits 40-533-08. Next to it, under "Description" was "Missing Person: Laguardian employee". She clicked on it immediately. The page said, _Welcome Ginko Hasegawa, _and she found four folders.

Folder One: "Ricardo Batista-A Missing Person Report".

Folder Two: "Interview-Cecilia".

Folder Three: "Friend-Mobile ID-20568886345".

Folder Four: "Email from Friend".

_That's inviting, _thought Mireille. She clicked on it.

_Hey there friend, be careful with that key fob. Go to the Seattle Police Department website and enter into their intranet the following number._

_8022-79488-4_

_By the way, delete this after viewing. _

_Got that memorized?_

_Seriously, don't fuck up._

_Love, Friend_

Mireille grabbed scrap paper from a stack in between the computers, and started jotting notes down. Then she closed out of "Missing Person: Laguardian employee".

She moved on to the next available, "Case Number 30-432-02". Under the "Description", the case was called "Current". She wasn't surprised what she found. It contained folders on herself, Kirika, Riki, and Audriane. She went through each folder. Nothing new about the childhood traumas she and Kirika went through, especially their "progress as Noir".

_As Noir._

Mireille was glad Riki and Audriane didn't see this after all.

She read the Saplings' backgrounds, in case Hasegawa's faction knew something that Sir Asher's didn't. She found a few things: in Riki's folder, a scan of her orphanage records, Smile Kids Japan. Also, under Riki and Audriane's files, were notes on their lives at home—Audriane surviving a recovering alcoholic father, and Riki's sick adoptive mother, way before this all began.

Mireille exhaled, leaning back into her chair. "And I thought Riki had overloads."

She clicked the "back" button to review all the cases she just came across. _Which one to start with?_ Riki and Audriane's struggles at home? Riki's orphanage? Who was this missing person Hasegawa was looking for, and did it have to do with the "friend's" mobile ID?

Was Mireille missing something?

She scrolled down through all the cases she hadn't viewed yet, which were locked.

Except for one.

She nearly threw her face into the screen.

"Case 43-665-08," she whispered. "Seattle Invasion-The Wesst Family!"

"_Hello again!"_

As if she was already switching to a different website, Mireille casually closed the window on the Wesst Family. She looked over her shoulders. A familiar woman stood there with an armful of books, giving a wide smile for such tiny, thin lips.

"Remember me?" asked the woman. "You meet my daughters, a couple of days ago—oh, I sorry, I get haircut."

She pointed at her short hair, thin wisps of auburn with gray highlights. "I sorry, you speak English, yes?"

"Yes," said Mireille. "But, um, _hablamos en espanol ultima vez_."

"Oh_, si, si_!" The mother laughed, shaking her head. "_Pero_, I insist we speak in English, it good practice—oh, Senora Trejo!"

The mother immediately switched back to Spanish when she spotted a librarian stacking books. It wasn't the same librarian Mireille expected—but something about the way the two talked was odd. She mentally translated the conversation while opening a new tab on the browser, desperately multi-tasking on Merci Wesst.

**CONFIDENTIAL**

**AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY**

**Memorandum**

**Issued by: Lt. Claire Heckler of Seattle Police Department (SPD)**

**RE: WESST FAMILY, SEATTLE INVASION: #43-665-08**

**Updates on the Seattle invasion on the Wesst residence. Attached to this report are shots of the scene containing evidence of the weapons involved in the struggle, as well as the blood of the victims **_**and**_** the predators. Such grisly detail has been reserved for authority's eyes only, to preserve the innocence of the public.**

**The specifics of this ongoing case will be compiled and disseminated in the near future to authorized personnel only.**

Mireille zoomed in on the photos of the crime-scene. Something about these photos screamed at her to look closer.

_Evidence 1: Two bloody daggers; covered in the assailants' bloody fingerprints._

_Evidence 2: blood on the lower parts of the wall behind assailants where they fell._

_Evidence 3: stab and slash wounds on assailants. They are low blows, mostly in the diaphragm or sides. A total of five on Assailant#1. A total of eight, on Assailant#2._

_Evidence 4: bloodstains on mother and child's clothes._

**The Seattle Police Department prides itself on security above all else. While the attempted assault and cold trail is tragic, it would be a far greater tragedy to lose the faith of the general public. We cannot infect the hearts and minds of the very people we are sworn to protect with this story. **

**In the meantime, do not interact with the media. Do not confirm or deny any allegations, even with your immediate department. Do not interfere or impede the investigation in any way.**

In the reflection of the computer screen, and by the tone of the conversation, Mireille saw that the mother was finished. Mireille clicked back to a tab on Laguardian wine, and turned around to greet the mother.

"This nice librarian—I not see her around," said the mother in a curious tone.

"Oh! That nice librarian with the shoulder-length sandy hair? Glasses? Gray eyes?" asked Mireille.

The mother frowned, making it easier to see her nearly invisible eyebrows. Mireille realized she was trying to understand her English, so she translated. The mother nodded in understanding and gratitude, patting Mireille's shoulder. It made her uncomfortable.

"Yes! She nice, yes?"

"Quite," said Mireille. "She was very . . . _polite_ to me last time I saw her. Wonder where she is."

"I not know." The mother beamed, moving on to a different topic. "Ah, you not from here, yes? You don't look it."

"I'm from Japan."

"_Wow!_ You speak Japanese?"

"Fluently." Mireille paused, looking at the books. "You learning Basque?"

The mother's shoulders seem to perk up with delight, as she bobbed on her toes. "I _talk_ it!" she said. "A friend learning Basque. I get her books."

Mireille nodded, then gestured to her screen. "_Well_ . . . I'm researching different restaurants to visit tonight. But it was nice meeting you. You live in a lovely village, you're lucky."

Again, when the mother gave another blank look, Mireille translated in Spanish. She took the time to even say the English words with her as the mother attempted to speak them. The mother would touch her lips quickly, eyes crinkling as she'd smile sheepishly and twist her torso like a child, hands folded behind her. _So perky,_ thought Mireille, feeling a pit of sorrow in her stomach.

"Thank _you_! See you!" exclaimed the mother, heading toward check-out.

Mireille stared after her.

_That librarian hadn't been seen, huh?_ Mireille wheeled around in her chair, pulling up the "Missing" file again. _I wonder if it's . . .?_

She clicked on "Cecilia Batista". A photo of a dirty-blonde woman appeared, whose wavy hair seemed to fatten up at the sides of her face. Mireille recognized her, but it wasn't the librarian.

She opened files under the folder "Ricardo Batista-A Missing Person Report".

**A MISSING PERSON, DEARLY MISSED.**

**Popular community friend Ricardo Batista, ak.a. "Rico", has been reported missing in a village in the Basque Country. It's unknown at this time how long ago he actually went missing. It only takes five to ten minutes to walk from one end of Laguardia to the other, and yet no one has seen Batista. Despite two weeks of search parties run by family and friends, police have stated the trail has run cold.**

"**We even looked where he was a tour guide in one of Laguardia's underground wine cellars," said Batista's co-workers. "But there are over **_**three**_**-**_**hundred**_** cellars. We've probably only searched ten of them for Batista."**

"**After a few days," says a local, "even a **_**tourist**_** could recognize every Laguardian local walking out of their homes, working in one of the bars, gossiping with friends or family, sitting in the square. Everyone almost knows everyone."**

**Because of this fact, authorities suspect, however, that local residents should have seen something. Anyone who may have information may be afraid to step forward for fear of retribution; commonplace in cases such as these. However, cases such as these in peaceful Laguardia, are **_**not**_** commonplace—so townsfolk ask who among them is doing this and why? **

"**Rico knew everyone; everyone loved Rico," said a nameless neighbor. "He knew how to connect. I'm sure his connections will return the favor by looking out for his sister."**

**We reached out to Batista's sister for any ideas or updates on his whereabouts, but she remains distraught in the dark, alone.**

"**Our parents died when we were kids, so we were close," she said. "Whenever I'd hear about missing persons cases around the world, I'd never imagine it'd happen to me—not here in little Laguardia. But it happened to my **_**brother**_**. I'm scared. I'm scared for him. I wish he were here—he would have said, 'Courage. There are two types: the courage to die, and the courage to live on'. Weeks later, and I still don't know which one I've got . . ."**

Mireille shook her head, impatient. Nothing on where he was last seen, or if there was any suspicious activity.

She moved on to the recorded interview, under "Case 40-533-08", and clicked "play":

"_April 25th, 2012, 10:22 a.m. Could you please state your name?"_

"_Cecilia Batista."_

"_And your relation to our missing person?"_

"_I'm his sister."_

"_Thank you for being here, Ms. Batista. Know that your courage and efforts will help us in finding your brother."_

"_No, thank _you_—are there any updates?"_

"_The task force is on it, inspecting your brother's house. So far, no signs of struggle. But now, let's focus on the details on your alibi and your brother's. For starters, you mentioned he works at the El Fabulista as a tour guide? That's for wine, correct?"_

"_Si."_

"_What were his work hours?"_

"_Ten-thirty in the morning to two-thirty, then five to eight-thirty, evenings."_

"_Did he work anywhere else?"_

"_On weekends, he was a bartender at Bar Velar. Night-shifts."_

"_And you work at . . .?"_

"_I'm a hairstylist."_

"_What are the hours?"_

"_From nine to six."_

"_Anddd . . . Rico was notified missing when his co-workers called his house when he hadn't arrived to work on time?"_

"_Si. I also called his co-workers when he wouldn't show up to our brunch after work. That's when they told me they hadn't seen him. _Voy a su casa pero no miro_ anything strange. I even asked around our local stores _y su restaurantes favoritos, y las casas de su amigos_—!"_

"_Ma'am, this dialogue must remain in English. _En Engles._ This is for the international bureau—."_

"_Por que? Did Rico do something? He's not in trouble, is he—?"_

"_No, ma'am. Well, not in that sense. But he could be in danger. Which is why we need you to focus so you can tell us anything you might suspect was out of place. Let's start on where he was last seen, and who was the last to have seen him . . ."_

Mireille paused, looking at the date and time in the upper right corner of her computer screen. Today was June 25th, 2012. When did Noir fly into Spain—mid-March? She honestly couldn't pinpoint the exact day and time; being out in the wild sort of removed the need for that. This interview may have occurred while they were still at Extarren, but not too far away when they arrived in Laguardia. Batista's absence was noted some time in April, and for whatever reason, it stretched out into months before someone as big as Hasegawa flew in. Which meant that the "international" crisis they told Cecilia . . . was really a _Soldat_ matter.

Now it was a question of what the Soldats would do when and if they found Batista. Whose side was he on? Was he a Soldat, or a victim of the Soldats? Who took him?

Mireille looked back at the photo of Cecilia Batista. After reading her physical description, Mireille also glanced at her location and job description.

_Wait . . . didn't Riki and Audriane and Kirika get their haircut here?_

Mireille opened a new tab, and typed in, "Cecilia Batista, Laguardia, Basque Country, hair salon," _anything_ that could would give her a hint. She found there were only two other hair salons. She scanned them all until one of them matched the building where she last saw Riki and Audriane, if her memory served her right.

_La Guardian._

Mireille chuckled to herself. _Creative name._

Cecilia Batista . . .

She knew something . . . or, for that matter, her brother did. He went missing, she reported it, Hasegawa came along, and now _he_ was dead. She would be next.

Why did Asher and Shirihime want these people dead? Did they believe they were from the Third Faction? Who could be sure, though? Riki never got confirmation from Hasegawa if he _was_ from the Third Faction—

But Hasegawa _did_ mention Sakuya, according to Riki.

"What are you hiding, you shady swine?" began Mireille. "Most importantly, what does this have to do with the Third—?"

She froze. Without thinking, she closed the browser, and snatched the key fob and wallet so fast that they nearly slapped the computer screen. She ran out the back door by the elementary school, onto the main street.

_Cecilia can't die,_ she thought. _Not yet._


	31. Chapter 31: Cuts

**Author's Note: **Hope this next chapter works out…Listen to "Seijaku" from the amazing anime movie _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time_: watch?v=Us5Rv89x-UM

Chapter 31

Cuts

Riki and Audriane sat on the steps of the La Guardian hair salon. Above the entrance was a porch, with a door, a potted plant, and table and chairs. The upper-half of the building was dimpled bricks, the lower half stone. A table and bench were set outside the entrance, welcoming guests with a teapot and cookies. On the wall behind it was a ship's wheel, next to a shuttered window.

When a person walked out of the salon, Audriane asked for the time, and got 10:00a.m. for an answer.

"We should get a pocketwatch," joked Riki.

Except Audriane knew she wasn't joking. She was stalling. They _had_ been since Mireille and Kirika left them there an hour ago. They had done nothing but sit here, looking at the photo of their next target.

Sometimes Riki would run her hand through her hair, or redo her ponytail. She'd look at the potted plants that decorated the entrance. Her expression was strangely calm that it worried Audriane, who knew exactly what she was feeling inside. At one point she invited Riki to the idea of exploring neighboring stores to get her mind off it, but Riki preferred to gaze at the salon logo—a pair of scissors where one side was shaped like a wing with three holes; the other side, the body of an angel.

When a familiar woman walked out of the salon, Audriane saw a change in Riki that she'd never forget.

"Hey, it's you!" said Ceci, slipping her phone into her lunchbox. "Remember me?"

"Yeah, the food woman," said Riki, smiling.

Ceci frowned. "No, I cut your hair."

"I meant the _txikiteo_ and wine you recommended us . . ."

Ceci beamed. "You tried some?"

Watching the two chat—it bull-dozered the cold fortress Audriane built for herself. She tingled with emotion. She realized how otherworldly her body felt, like she wasn't even there—she was watching it all unfold. Laguadia suddenly felt different around her; the sun, the peace, all fake.

Ceci noticed Audriane's silence. "You ok?" she asked, cocking her head sideways as if to get on her level.

"No," said Riki.

Ceci's mouth dropped. Obviously, she hadn't expected the bluntness. "Ok . . ."

Riki gave an apologetic smile. "My friend would like some touch-up's on her haircut."

Ceci seemed crestfallen, mouth slightly open. "Oh. Well, you've got money this time, right?" she joked. When they didn't play along, her eyes darted back and forth. "Where _are_ your sisters? Again?"

This time, both teenagers shrugged.

"I'm sorry the haircut disappointed you," said Ceci. "Unfortunately, I'm on lunch break so . . ." She didn't finish, expecting them to fill in the blanks.

"We'll join you," said Riki. "After your lunch break, can you fix her hair? It's just a few trims on the bangs, that's all."

Ceci sighed, but threw on a smile. "I don't normally do this—but it's a good first try for some customer service! I go grab my scissors and a mirror. Meet me up on the porch."

Upstairs, they sat at a wobbly, saffron table. Ceci started trimming Audriane's bangs, while Riki gazed at the scenery. No one said anything. It was more awkward than gut-wrenching. Almost. The girls half-wondered why Ceci was being so nice to them, strangers and foreigners. Must always be part of the job.

"Is . . . that an avalanche?" blurted Riki, leaning over the porch.

Ceci gloated. "Yup!"

The La Guardian had a stunning view over the town and the Cantabrians—which were draped in darkness by what looked like snow. Below were the vineyards, a checkered quilt with earthly patches, their fresh greens telling them apart from each other.

"_Whoa,"_ gasped Riki.

Ceci put her scissors—shaped like the logo—on the table. She held up the mirror for Audriane to see her bangs, then set it down, and giggled at the girls' expressions.

"_Oh_, it's just clouds," said Riki. She realized how the clouds' ghostly fingers slithered over the land.

Ceci held in a laugh, teeth clenched around the mouthpiece of her water bottle. "Ha. Hilarious. Every time."

"You do that to tourists?" snorted Riki.

"Just you."

"The clouds—they common?" asked Audriane, feeling her bangs.

"Yeah, the clouds do that a lot here," said Ceci.

"I can't believe I fell for that," said Riki—smiling, nonetheless.

"I think you needed it, though," said Ceci. She bit out of her prosciutto and cheese sandwich.

Her serenity and sense of humor altogether only confused them. Here Riki couldn't just stalk and kill Ceci—who deserved to be treated not as a target but as a human being enjoying a daily pass-time. However, what Riki was hoping to be a last intimate moment with her target became _too_ intimate. Talking to Ceci now made those two extremes difficult to digest.

To change the subject—and to get Ceci's eyes off her—Riki asked, "Is that a lunchbox?"

"Yes?" said Ceci, following their gaze to her red-and-silver lunchbox. It was oval-shaped, with a shoulder strap, and a shorter one for hand-grip on its zippered lid. "It deflates, it's portable, but roomy. Are you girls hungry, have you eaten?"

She pulled out a zip-lock bag of crackers and apples, but the girls shook their heads.

"Hm, you two aren't as spunky like the last time I saw you," said Ceci. "What's wrong? Your sisters aren't here again . . . did you get in a fight?"

Riki shrugged.

"Ok . . . well, if that's the case, I'm sure it's minor," said Ceci. "I mean, the four of you came to Laguardia. You must love each other very much to be on vacation together."

Riki and Audriane looked at each other. With all Noir things aside, this totally would have been considered a vacation. If only.

"Maybe you should get them a gift?" suggested Ceci.

Both Riki and Audriane choked in their laughter.

Ceci smiled along. "I guess it's my turn to be confused."

"Sorry," said Riki, leaning her head back on her chair, wiping her eyes. "It's just, I already tried getting her a gift."

"She didn't like it?"

"She did. It's just, the way I got it was kinda funny."

"What happened?"

"I used _her_ money."

Ceci leaned forward, as if she was going to spit her drink out. "That _is_ funny!" She wiped her mouth on her flannel sleeve. "Well, maybe you should try again?"

"We don't really have money," said Riki.

"What, no allowance? Are your sisters that horrible?"

It was a joke, but Riki and Audriane didn't say anything. Despite the struggles and terrors along the way, they had to admit that Mireille and Kirika _did_ take care of them. They hadn't just saved them from that awful day, they hadn't just fed them or defended them, they _taught_ them everything, even though the setting—hell, the whole _ordeal_—wasn't what they had in mind. Despite learning their initial motives, they thought about Mireille's rare smile or the pain in Kirika's smile that she tried _so_ hard to hide.

"Shit, is this what they call Stockholm Syndrome?" muttered Riki.

"Yeah," exasperated Audriane.

Ceci's eyes lit up to the dark humor. "Is _that_ how you think of it? I guess whatever you kids call 'family' these days." She shrugged one shoulder as she downed the last of her water. "Oh~kay! Let's get that gift, yes?"

"Wait, don't you work—?" began Riki.

"I think my boring lunch hour _pales_ in comparison to your emotional family dilemma," said Ceci, standing. "Trust me. When it comes to family, there's never enough time."

Riki didn't like where this was going. This was exactly what Kirika had cautioned against. The cold she was growing familiar with—the numbness she had been practicing—melted. She couldn't spend any more time with this woman. She had to get away . . .

"You should enjoy your lunch," said Riki, cringing on the inside.

"I do this every day," said Ceci, shrugging. "Anyway, I can pay, and you can pay me back—."

"_No,"_ said Riki as calmly as she could—but her voice came out demanding.

It'd be pickpocketing from the dead. No way would Ceci be shot in the middle of her last good deed, buying children a gift. It was wrong.

_The last thing she sees,_ thought Riki, _should be those clouds over the mountains. _

"Ok," said Ceci. She sat down slowly, placing her water bottle back on the table. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to impose . . ."

Riki would not have Ceci suffer through death, have her even _suspect_ what was about to happen to her. They would walk away and snipe Ceci, be as far away from the problem as possible. Because that _was_ the problem, Riki being emotional, too close, too attached, just like everyone had been trying to tell her. She almost strung Audriane along, could have gotten her killed against Hasegawa and those Knights.

"So . . . what are you going to buy her?" asked Ceci, with the tone and expression of someone who knew they crossed the line.

Gifts were the _least_ of Riki's concerns. But the more Ceci looked at her, the more she felt inclined to consider it.

"You sure are a family person," said Riki.

Ceci smiled grimly, looked at the clouds. "Who _isn't_?"

"She . . . has this pocketwatch," said Riki. "I think it's broken. I was thinking about repairing it."

This won Ceci's attention. "What a nice gesture! I only know of one place here in town that can help you with that. Go see Bartol."

"That would be great," said Riki softly. "Where is he?"

"_Antiguos de Laguardia._ It's behind Mikolas' bakery near the east gate."

"Shouldn't be hard to find. Thanks."

Riki managed a smile, and stood up. This bumped the table, knocking off Ceci's water bottle. Riki leaned down and got to it before Ceci, and placed it back on the rusting tabletop. The stylist smiled as they exit through the porch door.

Riki paused, looking back. "Have a nice lunch."

Ceci was already admiring the landscape. "Just looking at the clouds," she said. Her legs were crossed, one foot bouncing up and down, up and down, up and down; her hands relaxed in her lap, on top of her lunchbox.

_Just look at the clouds, Ceci,_ prayed Riki. She closed the door.

She and Audriane stood there in the skinny white hallway. They could hear blow-drying and gossip down the stairs they had used to get to the porch. Up here, there were two more rooms for stylists and clients. This place was bigger than it appeared on the outside.

Yet it felt claustrophobic.

Riki sat down in a chair by a thick wooden shelf. She gazed out the arched window, which look like a still-life painting. Its shutter was open revealing the branches of a tree, which blocked a bright-white sky, while the lower half of the scenery was filled with green. A white road shot diagonally across the picturesque composition.

"Let's go," said Riki after a moment of composing herself.

Audriane didn't question her as they passed the stairs that went downstairs. They took the back way, which led outside, down two flights of peach-orange stairs.

They were in the backyard patio, patterned with tile and rocks that swirled. Rock walls enclosed it, one of them sprawling with tree roots and vines. At the center of the seclusion was a black table and basket chairs, with a garden gnome on the glass tabletop. Hovering above the table was a black lamp in a colorful tree.

"We'll hide here, snipe her when she walks by," murmured Riki.

"You in one corner, me in another," said Audriane, nodding.

Just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, someone called out to them. They reluctantly looked up the stairs and saw Ceci trotting down toward them. She stopped behind them on the last couple of steps, smiling.

"I'm glad I caught up with you—is this yours?" she asked.

Hasegawa's ID.

_Stupid!_ thought Riki. She gawked at it with blame and dread like it was the harbinger of death.

"No?" blurted Audriane, in the calmest voice possible. "What is it? Is that . . . an ID card?"

"Yeah," said Ceci in a strange tone.

Riki gave a weak smile, waving. "Dunno. Sorry."

Ceci's waiting expression had reached beyond curiosity, to confusion, and then total suspicion. They chose to ignore it, and walked away. They felt a chill in the warm breeze passing through the tree above them—a tingling anticipation, as if they expected to be bungeed back to Ceci.

"But I saw it fall from your shirt."

There was that invisible string, pulling.

They turned around.

"Huh?" asked Riki.

"Your shirt," said Ceci. "When you picked up my water bottle." She stared long and hard. It was the look of the dead, of Riki's classmates from the massacre. This was how they died. This was what Ceci's eyes were beginning to look like. Never has Riki felt so naked, so terrified, so guilty.

Just then, something creaked. Everyone looked to a red door in the corner of the patio—a shed, with its own slanted rooftop of orange shingles, in the wall under the stairs.

Mireille stepped out, gun pointed at the stylist.

"Who are you?" blurted Ceci.

"I think the person holding the gun gets to ask that," said Mireille. "How'd you know Hasegawa?"

Ceci went pallid, eyes stretched in horror.

Every fiber in Riki screamed for her to stop Mireille. She didn't want her to _terrorize_ Ceci—but she knew after that long lecture about "the real world", Mireille wouldn't have interfered with what was supposed to be their burden, their contract, _without_ reason.

Petrified; feet rooted into the ground; hearts withering . . . they could only watch, as Mireille stood before Ceci, shushing her with her gun.

Judging by Mireille's professional demeanor—watching her ignore the teenagers—was enough for Ceci to understand.

"You too?" whispered Ceci, eying Riki and Audriane. "Who are you people?" Her eyes were alert, but fragile, cutting too deep.

"Cut the crap," said Mireille. "You _know_ who we are."

Riki looked at her. _What did you find from the evidence?_

"I know your kind," said Mireille matter-of-factly. "I had a bilingual friend back home—a stylist, who eavesdropped in the underworld business. You shouldn't be any different."

Ceci glared. "And what's _your_ kind?"

Mireille didn't flinch as she leaned in. "Some would say we're a separate kind."

Riki stared; Mireille had always said heated things—but this was _cold_. And it suddenly reminded Riki about the Bouquet Family's murder. It felt like she was seeing a whole new Mireille. Not the caustic, regal professional. Someone who truly saw the darkness.

Even Ceci felt it, as she spoke slowly but surely. "Hasegawa had shown me photos of your girls. Told me about them 'missing'. When they came in for haircuts, I wasn't sure if it was them—because they didn't _act_ like they'd been 'kidnapped'. They were _smiling_ over vacation ideas. I _prayed_ it wasn't them. But then friends from bars and restaurants and shops told me that your girls told them stories on where they came from, who they were. Even some local boys from the bars claimed they flirted with them. I was even told about _you_ and that Japanese woman, and recognized you from Hasegawa's photos. So I knew. I finally contacted him, told him I'd given them haircuts. Pointed him down the general direction I saw them walk that day. He must have figured it out from there."

_That's why he came to the library!_ thought Riki.

Mireille narrowed her eyes. "Give me your phone."

"W-w-what for?" asked Ceci.

"So we can call Hasegawa."

"I'm not an idiot," whispered Ceci, tearing up. "You killed him, didn't you?"

Mireille saw Hasegawa's ID in Ceci's grasp—and glared over her shoulders at the girls.

"_Why?"_ shouted Ceci. "He was trying to find you!"

"It's hard to explain," said Riki. "We had our reasons—so what's yours?"

"My reasons are better than _yours_."

Riki was more offended than confused by that statement. Here they were trying to bring down the organization that brought them into this, and Ceci thought _they_ were the enemies! Granted, she was told they'd been "kidnapped", but she still didn't know what they _really_ went through . . .

Mireille ordered Ceci to sit on the stairs, to keep quiet to avoid attention. They were lucky they were surrounded by walls—all the more reason for Ceci to fear for her life, to mistrust them. The shiver in her eyes, her determined expression, shaking the ID in her hands . . . it was a different kind of bravery. Riki remembered how she and Audriane fared under gunpoint for the first time.

"Wait . . ." began Audriane, "when you first meet Hasegawa?"

"Good point," said Riki. "It sounds like you've been communicating for a long time. He was here long before we got to Laguardia, wasn't he? Why? Why did he end up coming to _you_ about us? We just barely got here!"

"What matters to me wouldn't matter to you," said Ceci.

_It's better off that way,_ thought Mireille, alarmed by the children's revelation. She couldn't afford them learning the connection between Ceci and Hasegawa and Rico—it would emotionally distract them from what was more important.

"At least give us your phone. _Please_," said Riki.

Ceci hesitated. Unzipped her lunchbox. Slowly reached inside.

Suddenly, Mireille pressed the gun between Ceci's eyes. "I see your fingers moving there. Call the cops, and you're dead."

"Mireille, we here too long," said Audriane nervously. "Ceci's co-workers possibly seen her leave with us. We go, _fast_, snipe her from far—."

"Too late for that," said Mireille. "She knows we're here. If we rush off, she'll scurry to the police—the whole village."

Riki's heart sank. She knew what Mireille was thinking: targets and witnesses alike must be silenced. _Audriane_ knew that back at the Hasegawa incident. And despite Ceci's innocence in all of this, she would still unintentionally report her encounter with Noir to the Soldats hidden in the police, each who'd report to their own faction.

And knowing Mireille and Kirika, they wouldn't let _any_ faction come to them—they'd go to them. Their way.

Audriane whispered to Riki, "We do what we must. It us against _them_. Their accomplices, too."

Riki nodded, swallowing. It felt like a part of her had been ripped out.

With the nod of her gun, Mireille had Ceci to stand up—who did as told, only she challenged Mireille with an unusual look.

"You can't afford to make noise," whispered Ceci. "You won't shoot me."

In Ceci's eyes, Riki saw something she herself once experienced long ago—the desperation of a cornered animal.

"Mireille—!" shouted Riki.

Ceci lunged herself into Mireille. At the same time, Mireille's gun went off. Both flew over the banister, crashed onto the table on the patio. It became an indistinctive jumble of legs and arms and chairs, and thrashing—either to fight or get out of the mess they made.

And to their horror, Mireille's arms and legs were sticking out through the armrests of the chair she landed on. The way her back arched over the chair, the way her body was positioned, left her vulnerable. She was tangled up.

Rising from the confusion, kicking aside the fallen chairs, was Ceci.

With the scissors in her hand.

"I'm sorry!" panicked Ceci. "But I _need_ the cops to find my brother!"

She plunged the scissors into Mireille's chest—who rolled over in time like a turtle with the chair now on her back. This only slowed—or lessened—the damage; the scissors still broke through, and Mireille cried out.

"_Mireille!"_ shrieked Riki and Audriane.

Ceci kept slashing and slashing, with Mireille dodging. At this point, they couldn't afford accidentally shooting Mireille in the confusion.

Audriane aimed at the lamp hanging in the tree. "Mireille, look out!" She fired. The lamp fell. Mireille stumbled backwards. Ceci looked up and turned her back, covering her head as if that would protect her. The explosion of glass managed to miss her by an inch, crashing and sliding on the lopsided table.

In that split second, Riki was already charging toward Ceci. Hurtling into her, she wrapped her legs around her under the armpits, and flipped them both upside-down until Ceci was flat on her back. Ceci cried out in pain. So did Riki; her legs were crushed under from the landing. She hadn't properly learned that technique from Sakuya, but she _had_ to do it.

Riki pulled out her gun from the duct-taped girdle on her back, and pointed it into Ceci's face. She hesitated. They've already made so much noise, she couldn't just _fire_ a gun—!

She froze, saw that Ceci's phone had fallen out.

Ceci knocked the gun out of her hands, then uppercut Riki in the jaw. Regardless, Riki managed to pin her down in a straddle, one hand crushed against Ceci's mouth to silence her, the other against her throat. Riki wasn't strong enough to throttle her, however, and Ceci's arms were still free, fighting back.

_Please be there, please be there,_ thought Riki. In her dizziness, she saw the scissors. They were half-way under the shed door, through the crack. Her fingers wormed toward them, reaching over Ceci's shoulders, who squirmed. She roared mentally, _Faster!_ She grinded her teeth when her fingers got pinched in the process of brushing the blades.

There was thrashing under her. In her mad craze to stay alive, Ceci was clawing at Riki's shirt and face.

Riki squeezed Ceci with her thighs. With two fingers, she slid the scissors along the ground by their blades, toward her. She picked them up. Looking away, she _pulled_ down with all her willpower.

But Ceci thrust upward, grabbing Riki's wrists, pushing back.

"Why—would you—protect—_her_?" grunted Ceci, eyes wide and fierce but tragic.

Riki heard Audriane panicking; then shouts; Mireille gasping in pain.

"Because you tried to kill Mireille," said Riki, with a final, trembling push.

She felt the thick contact of blade to flesh.

She felt tension around the blades.

She felt life, pulsating beneath her, squirming.

Then silence—the kind that cuts so deep you can't hear or feel anything, or breathe.


	32. Chapter 32: Key

**Author's Note: **And the writer's flow's back! I'm hoping to post drawings of the characters, just to keep your story appetite going. For the first part of this chapter, listen to _The Girl Who Leapt Through Time's_ watch?v=AoCeqJjO3Bs&amp;list=PL6C7AEA31B943B736&amp;index=11. For the second part of this chapter, listen to: watch?v=XqGFbb6sMxE.

Chapter 32

Key

Kirika found El Museo de La Hoya.

Inside, the walls were playful geometric shapes of mustard and maroon colors. Kirika walked by the stages of evolution Basque ancestors went through from 1200 BC-250 BC, with plaques and displays of the Basque Country's cultural history all over the walls. Some of the walls were mock huts for children to interact with, covered in thatch, held up by wooden beams. Hung on the wooden or clay walls were coats, along with wooden shelves, and clay corners full of dry pottery that looked like they would crack any second. Diagrams on the walls showed how ancient Basque huts were made, with displays in front of them full of building blocks they made out of stone and earth to create their homes, next to a bin of shovels and paintbrushes for children to scavenge an interactive La Hoya archaeological site.

To her surprise, she found a whole wall dedicated to walking sticks. And there printed into the wall was a giant photo of men in vests—the same photo Remy Brefford emailed Mireille.

But none of the sticks in the display case matched the ones in the photo. Kirika's heart sunk; she should have known better to hope that she'd easily find the one cane—the one key to their dilemma—in a local museum. Asher wouldn't just let it sit there in plain open sight, for the public eye. Even if it was here, how would she obtain it?

Kirika leaned in to read the plaque next to the photo.

**Makilas – "Nobility, Justice, Respect, and Authority"**

_**Pais Vasco**_**, 1981**

**Photo**

**Acquired by: Fortun Ormaetxea**

**In Euskara (Basque language), these walking sticks literally mean "stick," "walking cane," "rod," "club," or "mace". It takes years to make, its design etched into a chosen branch that remains attached to its tree until the medlar wood heals from the carvings. Then, the craftsman engraves the recipient's family name or symbol into the pommel, which represents the Basque beret. Henceforth, it is used for rite of passage ceremonies or folk dances. Its unique detachable handle hides a steel spike, which allowed shepherds to guide their sheep against wild animals or defend in friendly spars.**

Kirika leaned in to admire the _makilas_ on display. They were flexible, gnarled, hardy, stylish, stainless steel, alpaca or braided kid skin; most of them, wooden. She walked around the glass display to analyze them from all angles. Some of their pommels were detached from the rest of the sticks, revealing their hidden rapiers.

_Other than their amazing craftsmanship, what makes them so special? _she wondered. _What did Asher do with his _makila_? What does it have to do with any of us? With all of this?_

She looked back at the giant photo. She gazed into Asher's eyes, as if asking for his help. She couldn't believe she separated from Mireille and the others for a _stick_ . . . and yet her hunches were tingling. She felt like the answer was staring her in the face.

"_Ongi-etorri!_ Do you have any questions, miss?" Kirika turned around to a smiling employee, a man in his sixties. "Do you like walking sticks? Are you a hiker?"

"Honestly, I don't hike much," said Kirika, shrugging cutely. "However, I find the craftsmanship striking. How did the museum acquire these?"

The employee nodded excitedly. "Some were given to us by locals whose ancestors bestowed theirs throughout the generations—one of them a craftsman who made one in honor of the museum's opening. Another _makila_ was provided by the museum's founder. The rest, given to us by anonymous donors."

Kirika nodded, interested.

"Aside from the beret," said the man, "the _makila_ is the proudest symbol of their culture. I'm assuming you read the plaque?"

"Yes. So, these _makilas_, each holds the owner's family name or symbol?"

"Or with Basque motifs. See here?" The man leaned down, pointing at the carvings and etchings. They were mostly floral designs, with petal-like shapes that swirled like windmills; some were shaped like stars and flowers combined, with ray patterns, or crosses with curvy ends.

"What about coins?" asked Kirika.

"Awe yes, commonly inscribed with the Basque motto, _Hitza-hitz_—'one's word is one's word'."

"If it's so common, how come I don't see any coins in the display?" Kirika looked up at the photo on the wall. "Are they the same _makilas_? One man in the photo has a coin in his cane—but I don't see the it _makila_ here in the display."

The employee frowned. "Actually, about a month or so ago, that one was stolen."

Kirika's jaw dropped. _"Really?"_

"I believe it even belonged to the current owner of this museum—so he took it rather personal."

"Who's that?"

The employee struggled to remember, then looked at the plaque. "Ah, that's what I thought—Fortun Ormaetxea. Sorry, I'm fairly new here."

Kirika felt her gut drop into a deep pit. She was hoping for Asher's name. But she threw on a smile, thinking maybe she could ask this Fortun Ormaetxea if he knew Asher.

"Is Fortun one of these men in the photo?" asked Kirika.

"Hm, can't say," said the employee, squinting at the photo. "But that would be fascinating!"

"Is there any way I can ask him some questions?"

The employee blinked. "Were you thinking about buying or contributing, miss?"

"I'm just really fascinated by the craftsmanship. Maybe I'll get one made."

"You could. The same local craftsman lives downtown, I just don't know—."

"Perhaps I could ask this Mr. Fortun?"

"I believe he comes and goes quite frequently on business trips. I don't even know if he's in his office."

"Where's that?"

"Well . . . it's behind the museum. But it's also his private home, so I'd have to call him for you. I can't promise any contact but if you just give me your name and number, I can make arrangements for you two to talk—."

Kirika shook her head. "It's fine, I don't want to bother him. I'm not interested in museum business, I just want a simple _makila_ crafted for me. I will look for this craftsman."

"As I tried telling you, unfortunately, I don't know this craftsman's name. You'd have to ask Mr. Fortun for it."

Kirika didn't want to meet Fortun face-to-face, not if he was connected to Asher; he could be potential danger. He'd warn Asher about what Noir was up to. In fact, she sensed the security cameras were watching her, like their eyes were actually on _her_, no one else.

She really regretted not having a camera on her. She needed solid photos to compare the _makilas_ in the museum to anyone connected to their origins or even Asher himself. But taking photos would make her look suspicious, and that was only because and _if_ she was being targeted. She couldn't let Asher know that she and Mireille were on to him, behind his back and Shirihime's.

"Um, one more thing?" said Kirika. "I've seen some Basque houses around town that have carvings on their lintels. Am I correct to believe they are the family clans' crests?"

"You _have_ done your research!" exclaimed the employee, pleased. "Yes, that is correct."

Kirika bowed. "Thank you."

"Nice talking with an enthusiastic," said the man, dipping his head, then taking his leave.

As Kirika came up from her bow, something caught her eye in the photo on the wall.

She knew those other men in the photo. Two of them.

At least she thought she did. And then she remembered how she first saw this photo: Remy Brefford.

Was that _Brefford_ next to Asher?

And was that man with the dark buzz-cut and goatee on the other side of Asher one of the Soldat Council members that she and Mireille said goodbye to, at the Manor?

And weren't they all holding canes?

_Is . . . that third man Fortun Ormaetxea?_ thought Kirika. She looked to the fourth unidentified man. _And who is this last guy? Is he part of this, as well?_

She was thinking about leaving, but if it was true that she was being watched, she had to continue touring the museum. She had to make it look like she was there for leisure; she'd already lingered too long in one spot. And yet she had _needed_ all the information she could get about that photo. She ended up getting such a wealth of information, she didn't even know how to process it, where to go from here!

Should she run off to find this local craftsman? If he made a _makila_ for the museum, he'd identify Fortun Ormaetxea; he would have crafted Fortun's name into the _makila_. If he didn't remember Fortun, she could ask if he made a _makila_ for a man named Asher.

She also needed to contact Remy Brefford. She remembered that Mireille said he acted strange when they mentioned Asher. Did he know Asher personally? If so, how? Did he know what was going on right now?

And then Kirika thought about Etxarren, wondering if she'd seen any engravings on its lintel. Unfortunately, that visit would have to wait. She had to reunite with the others.

…

It was the day after Hasegawa's death.

And Shirihime was _furious_.

Losing track of the Two Saplings. Finding out that her Knights didn't oversee the assassination but _interfered_, against her orders. Police coming to the scene. Even the Soldats under Asher seemed to clash with the ones under Hasegawa—whoever they were in the Laguardia police—making sure no one had access to Hasegawa's body.

Shirihime stood behind The Broken-Jawed Man. He was blindfolded. Behind his neck, an iron rod was laid across his shoulders, tied to his wrists, which were propped lazily on it.

"Knights, turning against their Queen," she said in an ominous tone. "_My_ Knights, shooting at the candidates on their special day? I cannot even interrogate them because the Saplings killed them—so I suppose that leaves _you_ to tell me. Name the traitor that ordered _my_ Knights around—."

"Not . . . yours," whispered The Broken-Jawed Man.

One of the Knights gagged him, then pushed him, just a bit, enough that he almost keeled off balance.

This time, they weren't underground. They were in the sky. They stood in one of the five windows of a bell tower. It was the highest part of Iglesias de Santa Maria de los Reyes. One of the biggest buildings. And at four in the morning in peaceful Laguardia, its partying residents and tourists wouldn't bother looking up, drinking, distracted. Even if they did, they wouldn't be able to tell what was going on against the black sky. Besides, Shirihime and company were facing _away_ from the town, overlooking the vineyards. No one would see them; she had Knights guarding the church perimeters, just in case.

"You're about to walk a plank, blindfolded, wrists tied," announced Shirihime. "If you walk back here to safety, you live another day. If you tell us everything _now_, then you don't have to walk, and you live another day."

Stefan stood nearby, obviously fearful of heights. He pressed against the wall. "Is this scare absolutely necessary?" he asked.

"The Saplings aren't the only ones who go through their own Trials," said Shirihime. "We all do. You, me, every man and woman and child."

"Sir Asher said _interrogate_ him, not let him fall to his death! He's our only source!"

Shirihime ignored him, giving the end of a rope to a Knight; it was attached to the same one around their prisoner's waist.

"Why the rope if you're going to let him fall?" asked Stefan.

"Patience, doctor," said Shirihime.

She stepped up behind The Broken-Jawed Man, whispering into his ear. "They say hatred kills. On the contrary, I _like_ you. A lot. Your integrity has intrigued me. I want to see how long you last, before you break."

"This is a dangerous idea," said Stefan.

"It is not danger you should fear, but boredom," said Shirihime.

She nudged The Broken-Jawed Man forward.

"Hatred will not kill you tonight," she told him. "Heights will."

The Broken-Jawed Man's breathing became shaky and audible from where they stood. He whimpered, his head down, as if hoping to see his feet through his blindfold. He felt around with his toes. Immediately, he learned that he was not standing on what Shirihime said was a "plank"—but on the narrow backs of two separate gargoyles, parallel to each other. His foot almost slipped, sending him into a muffled panic.

One of the Knights pointed a gun, as Shirihime said, "Make a peep, and I shoot you. Can't have you drawing attention."

"This is seriously a waste of time," said Stefan. "Find some other lead. This guy's has given us _nothing_ since day one."

"Oh, but I feel close, dear doctor," said Shirihime. "I feel we are _very_ close."

It was like watching Jesus bear his cross, this hunched silhouette against the sky. The Broken-Jawed Man found his footing, and continued. But he didn't lift a single foot. Rather, he shuffled his feet to keep his bearings.

"That, my friend, is the sign of a man who wants to _live_," said Shirihime, grinning at Stefan. "He _will_ tell us eventually—."

The Broken-Jawed Man slipped. Between the two gargoyles. His whole body would have slipped right through if it weren't for the iron rod on his shoulders; it caught on both statues; it threatened to roll off. Now he was just dangling there. He squirmed, shaking his head violently.

"Guess you're not the only one afraid of heights, doctor," boasted Shirihime.

"I think he's trying to say something—you shouldn't have gagged him," said Stefan.

Shirihime knelt near the edge so she could speak to the captive. "Give up? Nod your head if that's a yes."

He did. She reached over and removed the gag.

"Please . . . help me up!" he begged, legs kicking.

Shirihime stood up and took grab of the rope. "Heave," she ordered. Stefan and the Knights lined up behind her and helped her pull. This lightened the prisoner's own dead weight, allowing him to swing his legs up and hook them on the gargoyles. Now his buttocks were nested safely on the statues. With all his core strength, he sat himself up. Slowly but surely he stood back up, with the pull of the trio's efforts.

The Broken-Jawed Man waited for further assistance, but got none. "Help?" he panted.

"We did," said Shirihime. "You are back on your feet."

He breathed heavily, through the pain in his jaw. "You . . . promised."

"And I will keep it, once you keep yours—which is only guaranteed if you tell us everything you know, where you stand. _Then_ we'll bring you back over."

_Smart_, thought Stefan. _To ensure he cracks._

"Speak—or forever be flightless, without rope," said Shirihime.

The captive strained to speak through his broken jaw. "The Key . . . to the Underworld . . . is where it . . . belongs. In the underworld."

"I could tug this rope, and you could fall," said Shirihime.

"I'm . . . _telling_ you," said the prisoner.

"In the Underworld . . .?" Stefan paused. "You mean _underground_? In El Fabulista?"

"He worked there, that makes sense," said Shirhime. "Now. The name of the traitor."

The Broken-Jawed Man swayed. _"Galtzagorri,"_ he whispered.

Stefan murmured, "The 'devil'—?"

"I know what it means!" snapped Shirihime. She gritted teeth, realizing that their prisoner was mocking her. It meant he knew he was in control. _No_. She couldn't lose control—she was Asher's right-hand woman, his protégé, Child of the Soldats! She had control over her own Knights, yet she lost _that_ because of this man!

But even in all this murderous fit of rage, she couldn't kill him yet. He would have to stick around to lead them to _makila_.

Yet he _still_ wouldn't give up the traitor's name. Such loyalty! She's cracked prisoners, traitors, fellow Soldats before—what made this guy different? His devotion couldn't possibly be to some mere Soldat. It had to be someone else . . . someone with power. But _who_? Growing up with Asher as her father figure, a man of the Soldats, she knew every powerful Soldat! It _had_ to be someone she and Asher knew. Of high position. Someone who knew Asher so well, with a personal vendetta.

"Who is the traitor?" demanded Shirihime. "Is he a powerful Soldat? Of another faction—of the Third Faction? Did he once work with Sir Asher?"

"I told you," said the Broken-Jawed Man, pointing at her, his finger shaking. "It's _Galtzagorri_ himself . . ."

He swayed, then fell off.

"ROPE!" shouted Shirihime. She crashed to the ground, felt her body scrape and drag, hands burning, bodies tangling into her from behind. She had never felt anything so heavy, so powerful, as they scrambled to their feet and pulled against gravity. A few times they nearly bumped into each other from the effort, feet skidding, going nowhere, their muscles popping like snipped wires.

Finally, one of her Knights walked across the gargoyles and pulled him up. From there, everyone dragged The Broken-Jawed Man all the way under the bell.

As they lay him on his back, Shirihime asked, "Doctor, what happened?"

Stefan inspected the prisoner's eyes. "He got dizzy! It must be the pain killers I've given him! The side-effects must have been too much."

Shirhime slapped Stefan in the back of the head. "Watch your doses! We almost lost valuable information!"

As patiently as he could, Stefan muttered, "Maybe if you didn't torture him so much I wouldn't _have_ to give him so many painkillers! I didn't know you were going to pull this trapeze act! And for what? From what I see, he's mocking you. We're getting nowhere with this! He's not afraid of pain, he's not afraid of heights—nothing will crack him!"

Shirihime suddenly grabbed The Broken-Jawed Man by the scruff, and dragged him backwards across the stone. She threw him against the wall; he clenched his jaw. Then she ripped off his blindfold, and slowly sank to his eye-level.

"After everything I've put you through, of _course_ you're not afraid of pain," she murmured. "Not heights. Not pain. Not death. But maybe . . . life."

Through all the blood and bruises and sweat and tears, The Broken-Jawed Man stared at her intensely.

"Your life is in my hand," said Shirihime. "And I do not mean _your_ life—I speak of those you hold dear. My loyal, disloyal friend . . . while _I_ am prevailing at whatever it takes to protect my own, you are succeeding miserably at protecting your own."

Right away, The Broken-Jawed Man started hyperventilating, eyes wide.

"That's right," said Shirihime. "Your sister has already been targeted."

He swung his whole torso, almost nailing Shirihime right in the face with the rod upon his shoulders, but Knights pinned him against the wall.

"Your life in my hands. _Her_ life in my hands." Shirihime sneered. "Know what _else_ isn't yours? Your name. When they find your body, no one will know who you are. I shall add your heart to the very wine that I will toast with your friends and _family_ in the mourning of your sacrifices for Laguardian wine . . . and for the Soldats." Shirihime faked a frown. "All your efforts, for naught. Unless you expose the traitor, I shall put Ceci's right hand in a barrel in the northern cellars. I shall put her left foot in the southern cellars. I shall put her head in the grape mesh that your co-workers crush bare-footed for the tours."

Silence.

"W-w-wait . . ." stuttered the Broken-Jawed Man.

Shirihime slowly grinned. She was in control again.

The prisoner cringed at the pain in his jaw. "Aren't you . . . curious . . . about _makila_?" he grunted.

"What about it?" said Shirihime matter-of-factly. "It's Sir Asher's trophy, a Basque heirloom. An honor, a symbol of stature, leadership, power. Generations of those before him inscribed in it—"

"He never . . . told you what it really is?"

"A hidden rapier, anyone could read that up in the books." Shirihime was getting annoyed. "_Enough. _I am daughter to Sir Asher, daughter of the Soldats, I do not beg, so I will not ask again! Tell me the traitor—."

"It gains access to all underground passages—secret passages!" blurted the Broken-Jawed Man.

Shirihime paused. "Everyone knows what lies underneath Laguardia."

"Not just Laguardia. Not just underworld business. The _world_."

**ATTENTION READERS: for some reason, people must be confused or there must be posting errors because everyone is skipping Chapter 33 and reading Chapter 34 instead. Lol. So keep an eye out for Chapter 33 after reading this chapter!**


	33. Chapter 33: The Heat

**Author's Note: **let's kick up that battle beat, _El Cazador de la Bruja_ style!: watch?v=p1w1AH7_48Q

Chapter 33

The Heat

They didn't know how they got there, but they found themselves in the same park where Hasegawa died. They didn't think much of it as they escorted Mireille along the surrounding walls. Whenever the coast was clear, they gave her a break from trying to walk on her own, slinging her arms around their shoulders. That wasn't much help, considering how much taller she was. Nonetheless, they tried to make their way through Laguardia as casually as possible, with Mireille wearing a coat to hide her bloody back.

"I can't believe she still walking," whispered Audriane.

"We gotta move," urged Riki, checking Mireille's back. "The blood's showing through the coat."

"How bad is it?" asked Audriane.

"I can't tell," said Riki. Just looking at the bloody coat and imagining how bad it was made her heart race. "I wish we could stop and inspect it, but we need to get out of here."

"Do you have Cecilia's phone?" grunted Mireille.

Riki pulled it out and looked at it—only to grow pale.

"_What number is this?"_ she panicked. She showed it to Audriane.

The screen showed the digits 1-1-2 . . . and a count of how many minutes have passed since the call had been made.

"Emergency number!" gasped Audriane, eyes wide. "The line still running!" She snatched the phone and pressed the "disconnect" button.

Riki cursed, "Dammit, when she was reaching into her lunchbox!"

"The police heard _everything_," said Mireille weakly.

Back then, hearing the police coming for Riki and Audriane would have been a blessing. However, their minds grew numb and blank, as they heard the unsettling grumble and shriek of vehicles in the distance.

"We get rid of phone!" said Audriane, about to throw the phone away.

Mireille's hand lurched out and grabbed Audriane's wrist; she felt pain searing through her back; she clenched her teeth.

"It could track Hasegawa's phone—!" said Mireille.

"But the police may have found _that_ at Hasegawa's crime scene!" argued Riki.

_But we need it to call Ricardo Batista . . . The Broken-Jawed Man,_ thought Mireille.

"They can't track us if we take out the SIM card." Mireille took the phone and ripped out the back. "The closest telephone poles get a _ping_ to indicate that a phone is nearby—but if we remove the SIM card, we disappear off the grid. The police will still track it to where it last sent a signal, so we need to move. But we can still keep Ceci's phone, without fear of being tracked—_gak_!"

Mireille buckled in pain; Riki moved to catch her, but Audriane caught her, helped her stand up. Their mentor's breathing went from noisy to subtle and quiet.

At the same time, they heard the whine and grumble of machine.

Mireille had the girls sit her on a bench. "Act casual, and put that phone away."

Riki tucked the phone into her pocket, leaning against the stone wall. On the bench, Mireille crossed her legs, poised like a citizen enjoying the day. Audriane jumped and sat on a rectangular sculpture, kicking her legs against its marble face.

Police officers appeared on BMV bikes. Two of them dismounted their bikes—the word _ertzaintza_ on their backs—and the third stayed behind. They wore black uniforms, with red patches on the collarbones, shoulders, and elbows. Their faces were covered in black masks with eyeholes peeking through the visors of their red helmets.

_This isn't the normal police,_ thought Mireille. _They're dressed for something bigger._

Their leader was quick to the point. "Excuse us on this lovely day, ladies." His accent was Basque. "We are on high alert. Strange murders happening around. I need to see your passports. Don't worry, it will be quick."

As he took Noir's ID's, he was looking at Mireille strangely. Riki and Audriane followed his gaze: Mireille was pale under the hot sun. Her expression seemed to quiver, like someone trying to resist something, and she was sweating.

"You ok, Miss . . . Mona Lacasse?" asked the policeman as he and his partner examined Noir's IDs.

"It's hot out, and I have a headache," said Mireille, faking a smile.

"You look pale."

"I'm from Paris, what'd you expect?"

The officer looked at her, then back at their IDs. He spoke Basque into his comms, for a good minute. Noir freaked out: they couldn't understand him.

Pause. Hesitation. _"Zaude ziur?"_ Nod. He gave back their ID's, nodding neutrally. "Good day, ladies." He turned.

_They know,_ thought Mireille, reaching for her gun.

But he was shot. He slumped forward onto her knees, and collapsed.

Steam hissed from the hole in the pocket of Riki's hoodie.

Already the second officer was charging at Riki, raising a baton. She stood there calmly to gauge his moves, both arms erected in front of her. When that baton curved in from the right, Riki slid to the left. She slapped his arm aside, while her other arm—straight as a board—backhanded him in the face. He keeled backwards. She was already behind him, using his falling momentum and his face, to shove his head toward the ground.

Just as he fell, the last policeman was already shooting at Noir from behind his motorcycle. Mireille, sitting down, was forced to dive-roll backwards behind her bench to take cover, crying out as she landed.

"Mireille!" shouted Audriane, crouching behind the sculpture she'd been sitting on. But when she saw the enemy shooting at Riki out in the open, she stood and fired, forcing him to take cover.

He fired back. Noir hid, waiting out his shots.

_Where's Kirika when we need her?_ thought Audriane. She remembered Mireille had sent Kirika to La Hoya Museum, and her heart sunk. They could die, here and now.

Over the gunfire, Riki shouted to the others, "On the count of three—same time!"

"That suicide!" shouted Audriane.

"_Wait_ for it, first!" Already, Riki slowly started the countdown, using her fingers. The moment the gunfire ceased, she mouthed, THREE!

When she and Audriane stood and aimed, the policeman was already wheeling his motorcycle around, fleeing. He was shouting Basque into his comms.

At the same time, Riki and Audriane fired.

They watched the policeman slump, but he didn't fall off. His bike kept riding straight into town, with his body on it, bobbing to the bumps. It wasn't long till Noir heard screams, then a crash, followed by shouts.

Riki and Audriane rushed to Mireille lying on her side behind the bench. She hadn't budged since the gunfire started.

They crouched on either side of her, ducked their heads under her armpits, and swung her arms around their necks. Mireille tried to contribute by using her legs to stand up, but she gasped at the pain.

"We've got you," huffed Riki.

"Stop showing off and get me outta here," grunted Mireille.

They hobbled Mireille out of the park and slinked into a back alley. There, inside a secluded garden, they propped up Mireille against a cement wall infested with ivy. Ferns, trees, and roses surrounded old benches and garden décor and statues in the grass.

Audriane took watch by the wicket gate to the garden. Meanwhile, Riki laid Mireille's head in her lap while she peeled off Mireille's coat as carefully as she could.

Dread, cold as water, flushed through her veins. It looked like an animal burrowed a bright, shiny, red hole into Mireille's flesh. It was torn at the edge where the scissors were removed the moment Mireille had rolled to avoid more stabs. The more Riki stared at the gore, the more her breathing quickened, the harder he heart pounded. Dread and disgust welled up in her stomach, up her throat; it felt like the stabbing was happening to her.

"This is my fault," said Riki, pulling at her own hair. "I should've killed Ceci right then and there!"

"Riki, shush!" said Audriane, as she peeked through the wicket's sliding window. "We need to get her to Stefan!"

"No, to a real hospital!" said Riki.

"No . . . Stefan," said Mireille weakly.

Riki scanned her condition. "She's lost too much blood—we've waited this out too long!"

How helpless they felt as Mireille, right in front of them, tried to breathe.

Audriane was restless by the gate. "Mireille . . . what do we do?" she whimpered.

"Clear . . . the wound," murmured Mireille.

Riki inspected the hole for foreign objects or dirt. Then, she took off her own hoodie and balled it up so she could press it against the wound. Mireille winced, then wailed, as she arched her back. After the sting settled, she breathed in and out, hard, while pulling out a fob and piece of paper.

"Listen carefully," said Mireille. "We need to go to the library and . . ."

"That's not important, we need to get you out of here!" said Riki.

"It _is_. Because we may not get another chance. Hurry."

"Riki, go," said Audriane.

Her partner gawked. "What the fuck? This was my fault, I'm not going to just leave her—."

"I have unfinished research . . . because of Ceci," said Mireille. "And I got stabbed for it. The least you could do is go back to the library and—achk!—finish what I started—!"

"Riki, GO, we not have time!" said Audriane. "Take the fob! I watch over her, I go find Stefan."

"And what happens if they get both of us . . .?" began Riki.

Shouts. Running footsteps. It sounded close.

"Shit," said Mireille, trying to lift her gun.

"Mireille—!" began Riki.

"Riki, sneak by the police while they still running around!" pleaded Audriane.

"I can't just leave you guys," said Riki.

"Nothing's stopped you before," snorted Mireille. She winced.

"What the hell am I looking for anyway?" panicked Riki. "Dammit, _Audriane_ should be doing all the researching, not me—."

Audriane came over and unfolded the piece of paper, skimming through it. "She wrote directions—now go!"

Riki couldn't budge. Not with Mireille's head in her lap. She stared at Mireille, who had closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. All of a sudden, Riki thought of her own mother.

Audriane snapped her fingers to get Riki's attention. "Riki, you are better the fighter! You a good shot! Use what they taught us, for Mireille's sake!"

"Is a bunch of Soldat shit really worth all of this?" whispered Riki, dazed in guilt. "Mireille could die if we don't get her medical attention—!"

_"Don't,"_ growled Mireille. They looked at her, startled by her intense glare, like she was going to attack them. "Don't let the Soldats get away with this! Ever! If you lose some things along the way. I already told you, be ready—but the truth is top priority. Don't you _dare_ let them win. When I'm gone, when Kirika's gone, _you_ keep going—_urgk_!"

Riki gently shook Mireille's shoulder. "Hey, stay with me. Keep your eyes open—look at me, Mireille, look at me in the eye . . ."

Audriane pointed to the exit. "If you going to start caring now, then go!"

Riki glanced at Mireille, then held Audriane firmly by the shoulders. "Take her to the church. Maybe a nun or monk could patch her up there. Then use an alternate route into El Fabulista, and hide there!"

"Yes, yes!" said Audriane, gesturing toward the exit. "Go, go, GO!"

…

Riki was lucky. The rooftops of Laguardia were closely connected—an endless network of paths. It was a whole other world up here though, with its own disadvantages: jagged, bumpy, slippery, yet hot. The shingled roofs were old, falling apart, and scorching to the touch. Sometimes she'd roll her ankle or stub her feet between tiles. It was a noisy attempt at stealth. She couldn't afford to stop and take breaks—anyone could have seen her up there by now.

She had memorized where the library was, but not from a bird's eye-view. All buildings looked the same: the same freckles of oranges, reds, and yellows. But when she looked over and saw Iglesias de Santa Maria de Los Reyes, she had a better idea of how far away the La Guardian hair salon and the Town Hall clock was from it. And the library was near the town clock. She spotted the general area around it and hurried that direction.

Riki bound across layers of slanted surfaces. Sometimes she didn't have to stop—just leaped from one roof to the other. Other times, she hesitated and calculated whether the gaps were too big to jump, and risked going into alleys to get back up onto another roof. It was a strenuous journey, but being on high alert for the police increased her adrenaline.

She found the library, but it was teeming with police.

"What _now_?" she hissed to herself, squatting near the edge.

Instead of helmets and masks, the _polizia_ wore red berets or caps, with navy-blue polo shirts and pants. They were questioning citizens coming in and out of the library. Riki retreated by the chimney she was hiding behind, and cooled down in the shade. She breathed in and out.

_Always count how many you're up against,_ Mireille would say.

Riki peeked around the chimney. Three at the front entrance, questioning. Two on motorcycles, contacting headquarters probably . . . and three coming from behind the school. Riki squinted. These guys were calling comrades over. Immediately, the police at the front rushed over, save for the two still questioning citizens. If only they moved, then Riki could sneak into the library.

_Always keep track of where your enemy _always_ is,_ Mireille would say.

"And how many bullets I have left," whispered Riki, to herself. She checked the clip in her magazine.

She glanced back at the entrance. She'd sneak in, gun hidden, but ready. If the police found her in there, she'd take a hostage.

Riki shook her head. That wasn't who she was! Life was precious. First her mom, now Mireille, and Audriane, and everyone else. Why, of all drastic situations like this, was she suddenly thinking about her mom? No. Don't think of home. It'll distract you. You're in danger, right now. No—never forget home, never forget who you are! Mom raised you better than this! But what about you said to Audriane: doing what it takes to survive? To get them out of this nightmare?

Riki wiped her face drenched in sweat. It's been a crazy day, when was the last time she had water?

"Do this right," she whispered to herself, "and no one will get hurt—."

Gunshots.

To her right, but far away. Near the church.

Riki panicked. _Mireille, Audriane!_

Down below, the police were responding to their comms or walkie-talkies, which went static with gunfire and shouting. There was confusion in their voices. Then, the police from behind the library came running over. All of them barked orders, some pointing behind the library, others to the source of the gunshots. Then, for whatever miraculous reason, they all dispersed on their motorcycles. Only two ran back behind the library.

Riki felt her heart being pulled two ways: the church or the library?

What would Mireille and Kirika do?

Riki dropped into the streets, looked around, and strode into the library. So far, no sign of police. However, when she reached the back where the computers and kids' section was, she saw a crowd gather in the back door leading to the elementary school.

She joined a woman holding her child by the window.

"What's happening?" asked Riki.

"They found a body by elementary school," said the woman, mouth agape, shocked. "I think I hear someone say . . . it the body of one our librarians. She gone missing days ago."

_"What?"_ gasped Riki. She saw that a body had been rolled out of a barrel full of dirt and flowers. It was one of two barrels on either side of a bench sitting by a garden, which was between the school and the library. And standing there talking to the police was a familiar person.

_Sakuya? What's she doing here?_

"That girl there, I think she report it," said the woman. She shook her head, looking away in horror, hugging her child to her. "What becoming of our town? Excuse me." She left.

Riki stared at the body, and recognized it as that librarian who yelled at Noir to leave after her fight with Mireille.

_What happened to her? _

Riki stared at Sakuya, but disciplined herself with a shake of her head. She would have to ask about this later. She needed to use the computers.

Sitting down, she took out the piece of paper Mireille gave her and read its contents. She breathed through her nostrils at the overwhelming information. It was like high school exams all over again! The anxiety, the limited time!

Riki slammed the computer desk with her fist, but at the last second it became a soft _thud_. She blew out air and focused.

She was given all of the personal passwords from Hasegawa's wallet, including the "Friend-Mobile ID-20568886345" and the intranet password to the Seattle Police Department. She followed instructions to print out everything under "Ricardo Batista-A Missing Person Report", "Interview-Cecilia", and "Seattle Invasion-The Wesst Family". All the while, Riki was tempted to read the contents but reminded herself she was in a hurry.

After she finished printing, she went to the Seattle Police's website. Thanks to Mireille's instructions, Riki got into the intranet, and saw this:

**S.P.D. INTERNAL FILE ACCESS SYSTEM:**

**Enter your 11-digit FAN (file access number) to retrieve file**

8022-79488-4

**Seattle Police Department**

**CONFIDENTIAL**

**AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY**

**Memorandum**

**Issued by: I.T. Department/Priority: HIGH**

**RE: ROT3 Mobile Security Protocol Update: #3-6544-57-2-885.**

**ATTN: Senior Staff Members**

**To secure telecommunications and data, we are implementing new security measures. Every member of the S.P.D gets a new official smartphone and electronic security KEY FOB device. You may use this phone ONLY to conduct police business and related communications.**

**Once plugged into your new smartphone, your key fob will display a randomly generated 6-digit number access code approximately every 60 seconds. THE DISPLAYED 6-DIGIT NUMBER ON THE FOB IS NOT YOUR PASSCODE. The code must be decrypted in order to **_**unlock**_** your phone.**

**ROT3 is a substitution cipher used for encoding and decoding. ROT3 = "rotate by +3 places". In order to input your new passcode, add 3 to each of the 6-digit code displayed on your security key fob.**

**IMPORTANT: This security measure applies to the off-duty members of the International Investigators, Inc. who have offered their assistance in the Takagi/Wesst case. Make sure to add these members' numbers in your contacts.**

So this was about Hasegawa's fob! The same one tied around Riki's ponytail! She slowed down to read the contents.

_So that's why Mireille needed Ceci's phone in check,_ she thought. _To track down Hasegawa's phone._ Once they found it, with the fob, it could reveal highly classified details on Hasegawa's operations; members of the Third Faction; why they were after Noir; why Asher and Shirihime wanted them dead.

_Takagi_ . . . wasn't that Sakuya's last name? And what did that have to do with the Wesst case Riki caught a glimpse of?

Riki looked at the piles of paper she had. Now she had to fold them all up in order to fit them in her pockets. It was times like these she wished she carried around a purse.

That was when she glanced to her far right at another computer station and saw a child's backpack. Small, red and green, with lady bug patterns all over it. Riki looked around, snatched the backpack, emptied it, and stuffed in all her papers.

She left, on the watch for any police, then turned into an alley. It led down stairs, past a mahogany door, and iron-barred window. She followed it through until it brought her to a dead end, where she found a dumpster and pipes to climb up.

When she reached the rooftops, she looked to the church. She didn't know whether to head there or straight to El Fabulista where the police couldn't find her.

_Trust that they made it to the church,_ she told herself.

Then Riki heard chaffing of hands and feet against stone. She turned. Two policemen. It was like watching ants pop out of cracks.

"Hey you! What are you doing up here?" they shouted.

They took out guns. Riki turned and dropped between two roofs, onto a smaller one wedged in between them. It was tin, and made the thrumming sound of soft thunder as she scurried across. She found lower ground, hoping to stay out of their line of sight.

But just as she landed, she saw a flash of red and black. Someone came up from behind her, grabbed her by the backpack, and threw her around as though she were a mere turtle. She landed on her stomach, gasping in pain. Looking up through hazy vision, she saw that it was a policeman. Before she could react, someone _else_ picked her up by the backpack the same way, but only to let her dangle there. She squirmed. Lifting up her arms, she slipped through and scrambled to her feet.

An arm went around her neck, pressing against her throat. Riki reached behind and grabbed her assailant's hips. Then she rotated her own pelvis so that she could step behind her assailant, and hammered the policeman in the groin. Twice. She heard a female cry. When the attacker leaned forward in pain, Riki hammered _her_ in the face.

"Shit!" shouted the other policeman—who was also a _she_. And she took out her gun, shouting, "Freeze!"

Riki raised her hands slowly, gasping, breathless.

Up above, the other policemen caught up. When they saw that Riki had been apprehended, they spoke Basque into their comms, then joined everyone on the ground. They scavenged Riki's backpack.

One of the policemen confronted Riki. He spoke Basque. She said nothing. He spoke Spanish. She said nothing.

"Then, English or Japanese?" he asked.

Nothing.

The policeman examining Riki's backpack waved some papers around. "What are you doing with papers full of sensitive police information? They even mention that Hasegawa body that our superiors told us to be quiet about to the public!"

The policeman debriefing Riki looked confused. "A _teenager_?" he said.

Riki blinked. Who in the police knew about Noir, and who didn't? Back there in the park when they shot those first policemen, she'd had thought it was because they recognized Noir. Her instincts had told her that someone on the other line informed that Noir was under aliases, and revealed their true identifications. But for what purpose? To get the police to apprehend them, just so the Third Faction had easy access to Noir?

Unless they were from the Third Faction, these policemen were wasting her time. She had to get out of there or get rid of them.

"This one girl, doing all those murders? Impossible," said the other policeman.

Riki was frisked. Didn't take long for him to find the gun taped to her back.

"We could have forensics see if this matches Hasegawa's wounds." With Riki's gun, he gestured over the policewomen. "Cuff her. We'll bring her to the station for interrogation."

When the policewoman came over, she stood behind her superior—and twisted his head until it snapped. He fell in front of her. His comrade cried out as the other policewoman stabbed him in the stomach. When the comms and walkie-talkies went off, the policewomen smashed them to pieces with their feet. Riki panicked; she had planned to use the walkie-talkies to listen in on police operations. Maybe even check if Mireille and Audriane were ok.

Riki ran to scoop up the backpack, but one of the policewomen charged into her, hoisted her up in the air by the scruff of her shirt, and pinned her against the wall. Riki kicked and kicked, cursing.

"_Geez,"_ said her assailant. "You're a handful."

Riki glared at her, as if hoping to identify the face under the helmet visor. That was when something familiar clicked.

"Wait," gasped Riki, "that voice . . . you're The Nocturnal Hunter?"

"And you're Noir, aren't you?"

Riki was about to answer when she saw the other policewoman going through the backpack. Desperate, Riki pressed her heels into the wall behind her, and launched off it, right into her captor. Their bodies smacked against the earth, with Riki trying to rip the helmet off.

"SHOW YOURSELF, BITCH!" roared Riki.

But the other policewoman rushed over and smacked Riki in the back of the neck.

Riki felt light as the world tipped into oblivion.


	34. Chapter 34: Heaven, Hell

Chapter 34

Heaven, Hell

Riki only saw darkness, then a blink of light, and darkness again. Then voices. _Zip!_ The scratchy sound of papers being shuffled.

As fast as she was out, Riki awoke, as if from slumber. She was lying across her stomach where she'd been knocked out, in the same alley. The moment her eyes opened, she saw one of the policewomen—still wearing her helmet—looking through the papers.

"From what we have here, we can deduce several things," said the scavenger. "First and foremost, that this girl here _is_ Noir. The fact that she possesses bits here regarding Rico leaves no doubt—."

"Or maybe her _fighting_ skills?" retorted the other policewoman, whom Riki realized was standing over her. With Riki's bangs covering her face, no one seemed to notice that her eyes were open. Because of this, Riki saw that her captor was twirling a key.

The way Riki felt uncomfortable—she instantly knew she'd been shackled. She tried to quietly tug her wrists apart. Just as she thought. She was in cuffs. Great.

"_And_, that her friend must be the one who fired those gunshots by the church," added the scavenger. "We'll use this one to draw her out. Then we can see if they know what happened to Rico."

Who _were_ these women? And who was Rico? What were they talking about?

The scavenger with the backpack looked over, at her partner.

Riki closed her eyes.

"With everything that's happened today—and Hasegawa's ID found at Cecilia's crime scene—it's most likely that they are the ones who killed Cecilia. And Hasegawa, before that," said the scavenger.

"Which means they knew he was after them."

"Which means they knew about Rico's mission—why Hasegawa was sent to find him."

"The Third also knew. How else would Noir be informed of Hasegawa and the Batista's?"

"But did she team up with the Two Saplings?"

"One of these papers is about her. So probably not. Sounds like the Two Saplings are trying to figure her out."

"Which means they've already encountered her—or they're already friends."

"Can't say. We'd be dead by now if the Three teamed up."

"Shit-fuck. _Yeah_."

"It's unlikely, though. The Trials were never like that."

Riki felt some relief: they thought it was just Riki and Audriane's doing. They didn't know about Mireille and Kirika yet.

The scavenger paused, peering closely at the papers. "Wait. They killed Hasegawa. They have his passwords, classified information on the Third's childhood, the Batista's . . which means, they know about the key fob—which means, she . . ." Riki heard the voice pointed her direction. "She has the fob. She was coming from the library—she has the fob and our Mobile ID."

This was bad. Riki didn't get a chance to read those papers, only Mireille did—everything Riki so badly wanted to know, everything she _wouldn't_ get to know if Mireille died from her wounds or if these policewomen stole those papers!

Riki kept her eyes closed as hands patted her back pockets. Then her body was rolled over onto until she felt the sun on her face. Her captor was searching Riki's side pockets, opening her hands, taking off her shoes.

Riki could barely contain her relief _and_ fear. The fob was tied around her ponytail, snugged tight against it to keep it from dangling and making noise. How could they _not_ see it? Yet again, it wouldn't take that long for them to eventually see it—

"Check her backpack again," said her captor, whose breath lingered over Riki's collarbone up to her face.

Too close. She was going to see the fob!

Riki head-butt her captor.

Her opponent stumbled backwards, holding her head, gasping. Riki rocked back and forth, and shot her feet into the sky, hitting the policewoman in the gut. Standing up, Riki followed up with a tornado-kick—then jumped high into the air like a twister, delivering another spinning kick.

However, the other policewoman was already behind Riki, grabbing her cuffs behind her back. Simultaneously, she kicked Riki in the back of her legs, sending her to her knees.

She grabbed Riki's arms. There was a sharp cringe that turned into burning, then unbearable pain in Riki's shoulder sockets, as the scavenger's foot pressed against Riki's back while she pulled at Riki's arms.

"Riki Araki," said the scavenger. "From missing child of Tokyo to Child of the Soldats. Did you know some were born to be Noir—but you _chose_ it?"

Sweating, body on fire, Riki wanted to ask, "Who are—you—!" but the pain was too much. She gasped, then howled in pain. Her arms would pop out of their sockets any moment.

Gunshots.

Both policewomen looked up.

"That must be Audriane Dupont," said the scavenger. "Join police ranks—they're probably moving against her as we speak. Sneak up on her, and remove her. Keep an eye out for the Third—remove her if you must."

_Remove?_ What did they mean? Riki panicked. She couldn't lose track of either of these women—she couldn't let them reach Audriane and Mireille and risk their safety! Best to keep them in the dark . . .

There was a deafening explosion of gunfire.

"POLIZIA!"

Riki felt her arms loosen, and a great sense of relief washed over her. She bent over, exhaling. All around her, she heard the policewomen shouting, grunting, rolling, or shooting in response to the ambush.

When these seconds of recovery were over, Riki turned and saw that _another_ policewoman was standing at the entrance of the alley, firing the gun. Riki looked around, and saw that her captors were already retreating back up to the rooftops. At this point, Riki knew these two weren't even working _with_ the police . . .

In seconds, the battle was over. The two policewomen were gone, and Riki had never felt so frustrated and disappointed in herself. She'd let them get away, and didn't even get a clue on who they were or what this "Rico" thing was all about! At the same time, however, she ached all over. She'd about had it for the day.

Then she remembered that the _real_ police had found her. She was ready to backflip off the wall, but suddenly felt her handcuffs moving. They were being undone.

A hand touched her shoulder. "You ok?"

"Kirika," said Riki, rubbing her wrists. "Never thought I'd be glad to see you—or on the other side of the law."

"I could say the same for those two," said Kirika, looking up.

Riki slammed the ground with a fist. "Fuck, I fuckin' let them get away!"

Kirika saw the fob in Riki's hair, and smiled. "Looks to me you _didn't_ let them get away with the fob—."

"Kirika, listen, those weren't the police—they were the same women who stalked us when we ran away to that monastery," said Riki.

"What—?"

"We never told you—we thought it was Sakuya stalking us. But she said it wasn't her. Then we forgot about it, because we got caught up in training and never heard from them again until now."

Alarm swept Kirika's face, but she switched the subject. "We'll discuss them later. Your safety is top priority." She saw the backpack. "Is that yours?"

"Mireille had me rush to the library to print the research she found—before the town got too heavily guarded." Riki looked at her. "Were those gunshots your doing? To divert the police from us?"

"No, I was on my way back from the museum—." Kirika looked confused. "Where's Audriane? Why aren't you together? Why did Mireille intervene—?"

Riki flared her nostrils. "Ceci. It didn't work out the way it should've."

Kirika squeezed Riki's shoulders, face wrinkled with concern. _"Where's Mireille?"_

"She's hurt. Kirika, I'm sorry, it's my fault—they might be at the church!"

Determined, Kirika stole two guns from the fallen policemen. She tossed one of them into the backpack, but kept the other. She threw the backpack to Riki, who also retrieved her gun confiscated from the interrogation.

Kirika pulled her mask back over her nose and mouth, and flipped down her helmet visor.

"I'll cover you from behind enemy lines," said Kirika. "If the police get onto you, I'll take them out."

…

Riki traversed the streets, while Kirika, being the better shot, kept to the roofs. They snuck through town, more cautious than ever. After all, the police heard _everything_ on record when Ceci dialed 2-1-1: Noir's threats against Ceci, Mireille's name, Riki's voice, Audriane's voice—even when Audriane had said, _Mireille, we here too long. Ceci's co-workers possibly seen her leave with us_. _We go, fast, snipe her from far. _The police knew to look for three young women, each foreign, and that they had planned Ceci's assassination. And according to the policewomen Riki fought, Hasegawa's ID had been dropped there during Riki's struggle with Ceci.

All evidence pointed to Noir as the murderers of Ginko Hasegawa and Ceci . . .

They were no longer safe in Laguardia.

Despite Riki's apprehension, Kirika, on the contrary, decided it would be perfect bait: let the authorities see them—meaning, Riki. As long as there were only one or two cops, Riki would lure them an alley, where Kirika would jump in as if to aid the police, only to cut them down soundlessly, and hide the bodies. A few times Riki tried to steal uniforms off their bodies to camouflage as one of them, but they were adult sizes, so she and Kirika had to commit to the same plan. It was effective, at a reasonable pace.

When they finally reached the church, their hearts stopped dead at the sight of _ertzaintza_. With plastic shields and giant guns, officers hid behind flat bushes in the church square, or formed along the grooves guarding the single gigantic dark gate. Above the facade loomed a stone relief, a circular religious crest with floral rays.

"So it really was Mireille and Audriane," whispered Riki. "Shit, they're cornered! What do we do?"

They discerned the church. It was a giant block of a building with castle-like fortifications, made of ecru stone and bricks with high jutting walls and slits one would barely call windows, with the exception of the top window tracery above the main entrance. There were numerous slanted shingled roofs or what looked like porches—overall, flat terrain that suggested easy access into the church, at least from the top. Now it was a matter of _if_ they could get up there.

This was all Riki and Kirika could see of the front, however. They'd have to comb all around to get a feel of this church's blueprint.

"I don't see a way up onto the rooftops," said Kirika. "We may have to sneak in in some other way."

"Mireille could be bleeding to death if we don't find a way in, fast," said Riki.

She prayed Mireille and Audriane were able to find a monk or nun to patch Mireille up.

"I'll join police ranks and eavesdrop on the current situation," said Kirika. "Keep up with me among those uniforms."

Kirika scanned the church square before running to the back line of BMW bikes forming a wall of defense for the police to hide behind.

Riki stayed behind, gun ready.

She saw Kirika approach a group of what looked like superiors gathered around the church's blueprints. Words were exchanged. It became a long conversation, hard to read. Riki freaked: did Kirika understand Basque?

However, the commanders pointed to the left side of the church. With ease, Kirika paraded that way with her own squad.

Cursing, Riki realized she had to catch up. She would have to fall back into Laguardian buildings and curve her way around the church. She began to regret this idea with a backpack bouncing noisily on her back, but sucked in through her teeth and took pursuit.

To their luck, Kirika had been sent behind the church. She disappeared through a gap between the church and its juxtapose tower. When Riki caught up, she was amazed to find Kirika already taking down her squad of five without making a sound or before they could fire their guns. Riki helped drag the bodies inside a horse's stable behind the church; they covered the bodies with hay. Then she and Kirika traced along the horse pen until they discovered stairs crusting with jade-green mold. They hurried up the steps to a door. Above it, angels were kneeling to the Virgin Mary.

"We go in quickly but quietly," said Kirika. "I don't know when the police will come in after us if we don't report back to them."

"Kirika, did you just speak Basque with them back there?" asked Riki.

"Sort of. He just kind of pointed our squad here," said Kirika, focused. "Anyway, police won't come barging in. They'll wait to hear from my squad to avoid panic or alerting Mireille and Audriane. _We_ wouldn't want to alert them, either."

"Well, you should probably take _that_ off then," said Riki.

"It might come in handy later."

"What if there are churchgoers inside!"

Kirika stripped out of the uniform. She was in the same gray clothes they last saw her in: skirt, leggings, sneakers, and the exception of the turquoise tanktop.

Riki held her breath as she pressed against the door. "Ready?"

Of course, the studded, maroon gate creaked when they opened it. Nothing happened; no gunfire, no madness. They passed through a vestibule. It was quiet, yet seemed to echo every little step. The walls engulfed them into a sanctuary full of looming stone reliefs, statues, Greek columns, and religious scenes.

In the nave, the vaults were like trees reaching for the sky, their branches curving into the ceiling, touching each other. Golden triptychs full of colored statues instead of paintings were everywhere. A balcony passed over their heads as they walked through the ambulatory. Up ahead, they saw churchgoers in the front rows, on their knees; some were admiring the iconostases. Clearly, these people were oblivious to the commotion outside.

But none of them were Mireille and Audriane.

"Where are they?" whispered Riki.

"Pardon me!"

As they reached the ambo, someone in the fourth row stood up from her seat.

Riki was just walking by when their eyes met. She froze.

"You that girl with Ceci earlier today?" It was Tatiana, Ceci's co-worker from La Guardian.

Riki could only stare back. It felt like an explosion of roaches had scampered all over her chest, igniting shivers.

"You see anything? Anyone? You heard news, right?" begged Tatiana, squeezing Riki's hands.

Riki barely nodded; she didn't know what to say. Her eyes did all the work, watching the other churchgoers look their way.

"You see anything?" repeated Tatiana. "You could talk to _polizia_! I did! I told them you were last with Ceci—you see something, perhaps?"

Riki was a balloon trying not to burst; it took every muscle, even in her nose, to not cry.

"Anything?" asked Tatiana, scrutinizing Riki.

Riki blanked out, looked at the iconostasis. She couldn't help but stare at its shiny gold and detailed gestural paintings and its blue crown of sunrays overlooking the nave. She'd done this before whenever her parents were lecturing her or were upset with her— trace her surroundings with her eyes. Drain out voices. Anything to not feel whatever she felt at that moment: anger, sadness, shame, disappointment . . . regret.

Even though the screen of religious icons were interacting with each other, or looking down, it felt like they were looking _away_ from her. For the first time ever, Riki felt judged. She had felt nothing for these kinds of places, and yet she wanted nothing more than to belong. To be a tourist enthralled by the church, to be a local, praying . . .

They heard shouts outside.

_They found the bodies,_ thought Kirika.

There was the slam of the gates as they bust open. The police flooded the aisles, guns aimed. There was excitement in their voices, and even though Riki couldn't understand them, she knew they had recognized her and Kirika. They barked at citizens to duck, taking fire immediately.

"Riki!" shouted Kirika.

Gunshots. Men crying out. Women screaming.

"Riki, _move_!"

She couldn't move.

But something pulled Riki to the floor, under the bench seats. It was Kirika, shooting back at police. When Riki looked across the aisle, she saw Tatiana on the floor between benches. She had been shot, bleeding to death. Chest rising and falling, Tatiana stared back at Riki, and it took a few seconds for Riki to realize her eyes had become _the_ dead stare. Before she could digest any of it, Kirika pulled her along as they army-crawled between benches. Around them, people evacuated in terror.

Riki focused again, taking out anyone sneaking up on Kirika, who tried to get on the other side of the enemy in the nave. From there, Kirika shot them down, giving Riki less to deal with.

As the minutes passed, Riki knew they couldn't afford to stay here. Reinforcements could arrive any moment. She looked around the chancel for anything she could fight with.

Instead, she caught a glimpse inside the vestry, and saw a window they could climb out.

Riki looked back to see Kirika being driven back toward the altar. "Over here!" she shouted to Kirika, waving her over. She covered her mentor, who struggled to join her. After forcing the enemy to duck and cover, Kirika rushed over, Riki shot a few more policemen, and the two dove into the vestry, where they barricaded the door with the deacon's desk.

As they sat there, gasping for breath, they checked their guns.

"I'm out," said Riki, mocked with the sound of an empty click.

"You have that extra in your backpack," said Kirika.

"Right. What about you?"

"I can still use mine to knock people out."

"You're the better shot—take my extra."

"No. You'll need it more than me."

"I can't tell if I should be offended or grateful."

They looked around, fraught. Closets and wardrobes of polished oak took up a majority of the carpeted room. In the middle, was a simple table for a vase of flowers. On one side of the room was a long dining table and cushioned seats. On the opposite side, a fireplace with stone reliefs of thistle, bramble, and pomegranate designs.

"Where _are_ they?" said Kirika. She rushed to the geometric-styled window, only to see reinforcements arrive. More police marched into the church square, surrounding it.

"We've trapped ourselves in here—they were never here," murmured Riki. She began to wonder if those policewomen knew she would come here next. Hell, they were probably hiding among the police right now!

"They were never here—," repeated Riki.

"_Yes they were!"_ exclaimed Kirika, walking to the fireplace. "There's blood!" She crouched over the hearth, and ducked under the mantel, feeling around the detail panel and leg. Meanwhile, Riki glanced nervously at the double-door entrance. Any second, the police would be done mobilizing, and shoot through.

"Riki!" called Kirika.

Riki turned around, and saw Kirika disappear inside the firebox opening, into darkness.

"The _hell_?" exclaimed Riki.

Kirika's voice rang in response: "You could say that!"

Riki crawled through, bumping her knee and scratching her hands. A distinct line of ice traveled across her skin from front to back, as she stood up—or rather, crouched, since the the ceiling was sort of low.

Ignoring her own burst of claustrophobia, Riki called out, "Wait, what about the slab door—shouldn't we shut it?"

"No time! We're smaller, we'll get through faster than them!"

"Kirika, where'd you go?"

"Just follow my voice. It's a straight shot ahead!"

Riki slid her hand along the walls. Having that and the ground below her were the only things that made it feel like she was going somewhere, otherwise, she felt like she floating. In ways, it was worse than that night in the wild when she and Audriane abandoned Mireille and Kirika.

The air was cool, yet stale, and smelled like old leather and dust. She moved along, not sure if she preferred being in a simple, narrow, safe passage, or a larger, unpredictable environment of twists and turns. She heard Kirika ahead of her, then closer, for the woman had stopped to wait for Riki.

"You ok? We need to hurry," said Kirika.

On cue, they heard a _boom_ and the trample of footsteps into the vestry. It felt so far behind, yet close, the way the passage echoed. It didn't sound good, and not being able to see anything made it worse, drove Riki crazy. Despite the loud and chaotic presence of shouts—and the fear of diving into the darkness of hell—she forced herself to move forward.

"_Run," _said Kirika.


	35. Chapter 35: The Dead and the Dark

**Author's Note: **more Yuki Kajiura's _El Cazador de La Bruja_ music! watch?v=vMsXJyCViLo

Chapter 35

The Dead and the Dark

They plunged deeper into darkness. The panting, the slapping of feet, the sliding of hands along stone were the only things that gave Riki a sense of direction. Running through darkness was like running into a solid wall of cool air, of nothingness. It passed through her like a ghost, yet clung to her spine like a chill. Worst of all, the evil faint light behind them, of flashlights. To Riki, this was hell: frigid and empty and endless.

Running blindly through uncharted territory was different from when she was with her group in the well-lit El Fabulista, where she felt protected under experts like Mireille and Kirika and under the guidance of Sakuya and The Broken-Jawed Man.

Where they were, was not El Fabulista. It was the non-tourist, untraveled escape routes medieval Laguardians used to escape warfare. More than three-hundred cellars. Who knows when was the last time someone walked such remote networks—surely every now and then, but any time recently, there was no way. Riki doubted that even The Broken-Jawed Man has memorized this far out, or explored this at all.

Despite hearing Kirika's footsteps, Riki whispered, "Kirika?"

"I'm here," said Kirika in the darkness.

"This . . . this is fucking scary—what's our strategy—?"

She nearly ran down Kirika in front of her, who had stopped.

"What? What is it? Why'd you stop?" asked Riki.

"It's a dead end."

"Wha—no!"

Riki could hear Kirika scuffling, first in front of her, and then at her feet. Probably probing the wall. Riki stepped back to give her room, only to feel a crunch under her foot. She reached down and picked up what definitely felt like smooth rock with rough edges.

At the same time, there was the scratchy sound of movement—_sliding_—then opening.

"There we go," said Kirika—who was suddenly backlit by lime-yellow light. The more she pushed, the more the wall stuck out toward them, revealing a room on the other side.

In front of them, something shattered. When Riki looked down in the lighting to see what it was, she cursed and dropped what she realized she had picked up in her hand: the half of a human jaw. She looked up. They stood in the threshold of a slab door, its other side now facing them, full of shelves with bones and dust.

"I guess we're in the catacombs," said Kirika, entering, Riki right on her tail, trying not to touch the bones on the door as much as possible.

"God . . ." Although Riki smelled nothing but the same fusty air, she couldn't help holding her breath. It'd be like breathing in souls, their decay. She never believed in ghosts or zombies or heaven and hell, and yet today's events have affected her. She knew it was ridiculous to expect the skulls and femurs and ribcages to come to life, and yet they were a scary reminder of death.

They stood in a dome-shaped room. The floor was fine-cut patterns of stone, flat, and well-kept. The curving walls had stacks and stacks of shelves engraved into them. They overflowed with skulls and bones, sometimes rocks. Each shelf was skinny, with menacing shadows, black as night, thanks to the contrast of light.

And around the room were Roman arches leading to five different tunnels.

Riki glanced down each one, which were dimly lit. "Which way could they have gone?"

"Help me with the slab door first," said Kirika. They both pushed the slab door till it rotated back to its original state.

Kirika studied the chamber. "This place is organized and preserved and lit. Must be for tours . . ."

"Which means there has to be a way out of here," said Riki.

"But not until we find Mireille and Kirika."

"Do you see any trails of blood?"

"We look quick, before—."

Shouts, behind them.

Riki whipped out her gun at the slab door, but Kirika lowered it. She shook her head, finger to her lips.

There was the chaffing of guns, armor, and hands against the slab, the shouting of the Basque tongue. Finally, the door was rotated 180 degrees, and squeezing through was a squad of policemen and policewomen with machine guns. They swarmed the catacombs, the muzzles of their guns tied with flashlights. There was a pause, as they shared a moment of shock: the catacombs were empty. The leader contacted headquarters, while assigning two-to-three of his comrades to one tunnel at a time. Suddenly, he saw something and changed his mind. He raised a hand, pointing down one particular passage. He spoke into his comms again.

_Catacombs. Historical treasure, don't damage. Follow blood, _was what Kirika could best translate.

With a final swing of his arm, the leader led his squad down one tunnel.

Minutes passed until the sounds of their footsteps went flat silent.

Kirika peeked out from a low shelf, then slid out sideways. Her heart skipped a beat as bones clattered to the floor. She hoped the squad didn't hear that. She hurried out, and chased after them.

…

"And I _volunteered_," growled Riki as she jogged through the tunnels.

_Want to be the hunter or hunted?_ Kirika had asked. _The hunter becomes so obsessed with the hunted, they do not realize _they_ have become the hunted._

Riki didn't want to be chased—but she didn't want to stay in the creepy catacombs either.

At least she could see thanks to the ceiling lamps or installation of lights along the walls—but their brightness only gave more power to the sinister of this place. Although the tunnels became tall enough to run through—and stayed consistent in lighting, texture, stone, and size—that was exactly the problem. All of them looked the same. She was going to get lost.

Once again, she was going to be trapped.

Without having found the others. She should have seen or heard of them by now—they couldn't have gone _that_ far with Mireille's wound!

Riki looked down, followed the trail of blood. It worried her how much there was, sticky and almost black in the lighting, not hard to miss. She wondered if Audriane got wounded, too.

She heard the squad. They were getting close. She had to gain favorable distance between them to avoid being shot at, but keep it close so Kirika could keep up.

But the advantages of having tall, lit tunnels were also her enemy's advantage.

"_There she is!"_

Riki turned a corner without second thought, the explosions ringing painfully in her ears. She found herself in a hallway lined with barrels on either side. At the end of it was a three-way, with a circular bar at the center, probably for tour guides to serve wine to guests. She didn't know whether to celebrate or be confused—either she had found her way back into El Fabulista, or the only other operating winery, Bodegas Carlos San Pedro Perez de Viñaspre.

She didn't have time to figure it out—bullets flew past her. She veered toward the wall, jumped and ran along it, bounced off, and awkwardly bound across two barrels before landing on the flat ground. As she rolled, bullets missed her. When she vaulted the counter, her backpack scratched along the wooden surface just as bullets grazed by her ear; she could feel the hot air. Two more bullets went over her head as she landed safely behind the bar.

Catching her breath, she could hear them rallying, the clicking of guns. More than anything, she wished she understood Euskara right now.

She slid out the magazine of her gun.

"_Eight_ left?" she whispered, drooping her head into her arms in despair. She started bobbing the gun against her forehead.

She had no idea how many policemen were out there.

Riki felt the backpack. Even though it was small and light from simply holding papers, it was still a burden, it made noise. She needed absolute mobility, absolute silence. At this point, she was going to die if there were any slight distractions. Her life was priority, not these papers . . .

Wait, _what_ life? She had no life. This was it—these papers. They had the answers to why _this_ was her life. They were her motivation to keep fighting—but to die for? Would Mireille and Kirika seriously have died for these papers?

The footsteps were coming closer. Riki peeked to get a glimpse of how many there were. On her right, three bullets chipped the counter. She ducked. They continued fire. Without thinking, she aimed at the lights above their heads.

After she shot the third light, there was a single flicker, then blackness.

Slants of lights swung this way and that in confusing blurs. The squad yelled among themselves, while Riki shot blindly where she last remembered each were standing. There were cries, and what sounded like two or three bodies falling—but she still heard footsteps and gunfire.

She instantly regretted not being able to see, not to mention if she'd counted correctly. Did she have five or three bullets left? More shuffles, and whispers. Should she grab the dead's flashlights—was that too risky, to jump out there in the open? Whispers, getting closer. Riki didn't have a sense of direction in the dark until she saw a beam of light shoot over her head, on the ceiling. The police were almost to the bar. She had no choice . . .

Riki felt around the bar, and almost knocked over what she'd been looking for. _Wine bottles, yes!_ She threw two of them, as far as she could. The explosions echoed throughout the tunnels. It sent guns blazing—away from her. The panic gave her enough time to stand up and see how many policemen stood there in the glow of their own gunfire. She shot down three more men without wasting a bullet, then took cover again.

She hastened to check how many bullets she had left—when someone jumped onto the counter, behind her. Riki whirled around, gun aimed, but a flashlight blinded her. She pulled the trigger anyway. It clicked. Nothing happened. She was a goner.

She heard the gunshot, and for a good couple of seconds, thought she was in the darkness and silence of the afterlife. But then she heard something crash next to her, into her circular fortification. A fallen gun with its flashlight shone on its owner, the policeman, trying to breathe. Heart kicking, Riki snatched his gun and aimed it at him. The flashlight showed a broad, sweaty face of a young man who needed shaving. Instead of remorse, she felt repugnant fear _of_ the body, and she felt guilty for it. She looked away, listened to his ragged breathing, and shot him. It scared her how much easier it was to end a life.

Gunfire pierced the darkness. When Riki shone her light onto the source, she saw another policeman collapse. In the halo of his flashlight, she saw what looked like a lid, and followed its path to one of the barrels.

A body was sticking out of an opened barrel.

Riki yelped, and fired.

"RIKI, STOP!"

"Fuck—_Audriane_?" Riki bent over, gasping, as if she'd caged up all her oxygen. She cast her light back on Audriane, who was propped up on her elbows, gun aimed, the other half of her body inside the lopsided barrel.

"Were you _in_ there this whole time?" asked Riki, eyes bulging.

"Had to wait . . . until there were less men," said Audriane. "I only had two bullets . . ."

Audriane flinched; Riki saw the blood.

"Shit!" She rushed over, dragging Audriane all the way out of the barrel. "Did I just do that?"

"No, from earlier today," grunted Audriane, standing up, holding her bloodied side. "I'm ok—."

"No you're not—that was a lot of blood I followed here!"

"It's ok, someone fix us."

"_We?"_ Riki looked around with her light. "Where's Mireille?"

"Right here." Footsteps.

Riki's flashlight searched the other two tunnels on the other side of the bar; they had rows of barrels, too. From one end, she saw a faint figure in the dark, and exposed it:

It was a man in a black cassock. Behind him was Mireille, her gun to his back.

"You're ok!" blurted Riki. "Wait, _you_ were here this whole time too?"

"Thanks to this hieromonk," said Audriane, nodding to the man, "he showed us down here from vestry."

"I'm afraid his monastic upbringing doesn't serve us any good," panted Mireille. "He had the resources to clean me up but not the skills."

"Your breaths are shorter—are you _actually_ ok?" said Riki.

"You have our research?" asked Mireille.

"_Yes_, you idiot, now get moving—!"

"Where's Kirika?"

"She's catching up," said Riki, collecting spare guns from the battlefield and passing them around. She slipped off her backpack and gave it to Audriane. "Take this with you, find a way out . . ."

"What you _doing_?" asked Audriane.

"Now that I know you two are here—and _injured_—you definitely have to hurry ahead. I'm going to find Kirika in case she ran into any trouble. You two scope out an exit for us."

"And leave you and Kirika? We stick together—."

"I trust my partner, you can trust yours," said Mireille, observing both girls, who looked at her awaiting further advise. "You're not getting my thanks yet—this battle isn't over. But . . . maybe, you deserve some praise."

Riki's heart ached. "You sure you ok?" she asked.

"Not with that gun in my face," quipped Mireille.

"I need this light to see your gorgeous face." Riki grinned and shifted her gun anyway so it wasn't on Mireille but kept her fairly illumined.

"According to this man here," said Mireille, "the church was north from here. We've been moving south this whole time, into Bodega Viñaspre. From what I remembered walking the streets, Viñaspre is only a three-minute walk from El Fabulista. If we can get there, we'll have a better grasp of where to go. We can escape."

"What we do _after_ that?" asked Audriane.

Mireille sighed. "I don't know. Find refuge somewhere. Maybe retreat into Barranco de Valle."

"_No,"_ said Audriane. "We stay in Laguardia. Police not risk lives of people—it give us the upper hand."

"She's right," said Riki. "If we make a run for it, we lose the cover of the buildings here. Out there in the wild, they'll be ruthless. The _wild_ will be ruthless."

"Down _here_ we're trapping ourselves—they'll be ruthless," retorted Mireille.

"But we can't leave—the Third Faction is here," said Riki.

"Catching them will be difficult with the police everywhere," argued Mireille.

Riki glared. "I went through the _underworld _to bring you these papers—no turning back now! Besides, we can't leave without Hasegawa's phone. It's out there somewhere."

Mireille's eyes widened. "What'd you find on the Seattle Police intranet?"

"How to unlock the fob—but we need Hasegawa's phone for it. Since we still have Ceci's phone, we can call his phone. It'll be risky letting the police track us, but it'll be temporary. It's the only way to find Hasegawa's phone. But _first_, we should find refuge nearby. Close enough to keep an eye on police operations, but far enough from danger. That way, we can recover, take a look at these papers, and locate Hasegawa's phone. Whatever's on it has information on the Third Faction. Then, we'll give 'em hellfire."

Mireille stared. _From the depths of hell's fire, their black souls lure the lost children_.

For the first time in a long time, she felt guilt. She was looking at a different Riki, hearing a different Riki. The same with Audriane. And yet, she couldn't help but be intrigued by this change.

Her expression softened as she looked Riki in the eye. "Takes one to know hell to _give_ hell, right?"

The moment was ruined when their prisoner moved to bolt, but Mireille switched her gun from his chest to his head. "Your head or heart, your choice. I need you. You've been so helpful—almost _too_ helpful, like you know so much. For your average man of God, you sure know a lot about the underworld."

Riki and Audriane looked at each other.

"You not . . . going to kill a priest, are you?" asked Audriane.

"Soldats—they're all the same," said Mireille.

"Wait, you're not saying he's . . . a Soldat?" gasped Riki.

"Shirihime said so herself—they're all about connections," said Mireille. "And what better way to communicate than through the underworld? We're in Laguardia, known for its tunnels. Come now, a priest has a hidden passage in his office that leads to the catacombs, which are connected to an endless underground labyrinth—?"

"Mireille," argued Audriane, "these tunnels _ancient_, though. They provided escape for Laguardian inhabitants, not Soldat operations—."

"The Soldats are a _thousand_-years-old," said Mireille, voice rising. "Ever since the late tenth century, they have taken place in every social part of humankind above ground. But _underground_ is where they were born, where we will find the nest. But that starts here with our hieromonk, a man of the Soldats. But for who? Sir Asher, or for the Third Faction?"

"Unless he tells us himself, we'll have the fob to answer that," said Riki.

"Don't kill him," said Audriane.

"He'll serve his purpose—he'll help us out of here," said Mireille. "And from there, we'll keep an eye on him."

The girls watched Mireille prod her prisoner with the gun, as the two walked down the third tunnel.

"A stab wound and _she_ the one making threats," awed Audriane.

"I'm surprised _they're_ not Noir," said Riki. "Keep an eye on her condition. And if you hear gunfire back here, don't come back. I mean it. You two find a way out—_someone's_ gotta survive this, if not all of us."

"Don't talk like that!" gasped Audriane, shocked.

"_Go_, already!" snapped Riki, pointing where Mireille disappeared. "Trust me, ok?"

Audriane turned, but hesitated.

"I'm not going to say any of that 'if-I-don't-make-it' crap if that's what you're expecting," said Riki. "Now go!"

After that quick reunion, watching her comrades walk away was the hardest thing for Riki. She honestly didn't want to do this. She didn't want to endure another second down here in the dark with the dead—she didn't want to go backwards instead of forwards—but she _had_ to retrieve Kirika, make sure she was alive and safe.

First things first. With her new gun and flashlight, Riki searched the bar and found a promising stash of wine bottles. She smashed them everywhere—around the bar, between the barrels in all three tunnels. Then she hurried from corpse to corpse, scavenging their pockets for spare magazines or handguns, even batons. She found one pocketknife and stowed it away for emergencies. She looked at the shotguns and machine guns lying on the ground, wondering if they were worth dragging along with their extra ammunition . . .

Static. Riki jolted. It was like hearing a boom in the silence, ghosts in the darkness. She shone the light on a policeman's corpse, whose walkie-talkie had gone off. In Euskara, someone on the other line was demanding for a reply, she could tell by its urgent tone. Not knowing the language anyway, she found it useless and smashed it with her foot. Couldn't afford anyone hearing it where she was.

But it was too late. From the direction she'd come, she saw a glow. It became beams of light, accompanied by footsteps.

"_Seriously?"_ hissed Riki, swooping up all the fallen guns she could, shouldering on their straps. She then clambered over the bar. Inside, she crouched, all her weapons around her, against the shelves in an orderly fashion. She didn't have time to check if they had ammo—she just had to _hope_ they did.

Leaning over the counter on her elbows, Riki aimed her gun and flashlight. Not a minute passed when she spot-lit another influx of policemen turning the corner. They thronged into the hallway, toward her. She picked them off one by one. She was met with resistance, but it was easier than before now that she had the element of surprise from a sniping distance. It got noisy, but at this point, all of Laguardia knew they were down here so might as well go off with a boom and a bang.

When the dust and noise settled, Riki crouched behind the bar. She reloaded, keeping her ears open for any more sounds. She waited for a few minutes, but heard nothing. Still tense, she checked how much ammo was left in her spares.

_Crrrr-shhhh!_

Riki paused. Waited.

There it was again. The crackling of the broken wine bottles she'd scattered. So there _were_ policemen there, trying to sneak toward her. With their lights off.

Riki couldn't help but feel pride in her strategy. She'd wait till the crunches were closer, and she'd be able to pinpoint where her enemy was standing exactly.

Another crunch, this time slow and methodical. _Crrr-nn-chhh._

It was behind her.

_Shit, shit, shit!_ _I should've checked where that third tunnel led! _The second tunnel was the one Mireille and Audriane used—but the third . . . the enemy must have learned that it connected to the tunnel facing Riki. The two were linked and wound back to this same room . . .

Riki held her breath, hoped they didn't know the layout of the room. All she had was this fortress all around her, and ammunition. It could only do so much to protect her, however. She was surrounded. If she revealed herself to gun down one policeman, the other policeman behind her would know where she was exactly.

_I have no choice,_ she thought. _But I have a better chance taking one of them down instead of letting them _both_ find me . . ._

"Gotta say, cool sound trap, Noir."

Fear spider-crawled up Riki's neck.

"It takes two to know two, right? You two ended up making up quite the team, after all."

Just as Riki thought: those mysterious policewomen _were_ hiding among the real police! Again, letting the authorities do all the work, while, at the same time, throwing them at Noir to add to the stress.

And they _still_ thought it was just Riki and Audriane. At least they wouldn't chase down the real Audriane, and Mireille—whom Riki didn't tell about the policewomen. Knowing her comrades, they would have stayed, not fled, like Riki wanted them to.

Crunch.

From both sides.

_We've got you now,_ thought Riki.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I finally drew Riki, Mireille, and Kirika! Still got Audriane and Sakuya to do. Find me on deviantart as "duskricorn"!


End file.
